


Without Feathers

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Series: There's Always Time for a Drink [4]
Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, more Posner in later chapters, post grad history boys, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: After graduating from Oxford and moving to London for a job, Scripps is feeling the strain of a long distance relationship, which is nothing to what Posner is feeling.(and it doesn't help that Dakin's relationship is becoming ever more puke-inducingly cute)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As seems to be the way with Scosner fics for me, I have absolutely no idea where this is going, but I hope to keep up with it on a pretty regular basis. Although I have a few things I'd like to explore with it, and want to take the time to do it justice, so some chapters may take a while.... on the other hand, I may end up scrapping all my half-ideas and wrap it up in a month XD
> 
> ((the title is obviously a play on Emily Dickinson's beautiful poem, but it turns out it's also the title of a Woody Allen book, so sorry Woody, but I feel I can still take some moral high ground here XD))

 

 

It’s a bloody gorgeous day and, other than an essay that will require pounding out last minute on Monday, Dakin has the entire May bank holiday weekend stretching ahead of him. He’s spending the weekend at Tom’s and it’s reached the stage where he doesn’t even have to pack a bag. He sort of thinks the whole thing ought to horrify him but the thought of ‘his drawer’ fills his stomach with a warm tingling – he tries not to think about that too deeply. Instead, he confines his thoughts to lustful anticipation of two long sunny days filled with biting sarcasm, leisurely sex in an actual double bed, piping hot showers, trips to the pub and maybe a museum or two.

 

So it is that he’s in a very cheerful mood as he leaves his final law tutorial on Friday afternoon and heads to the pub where his course-mates routinely meet at the end of the day.

 

There’s nothing special about the frazzled looking figure sitting hunched over a postcard at one of the outside tables that have suddenly sprung up outside cafes everywhere in the warm weather, but for some reason, it arrests his attention. This particular café is next to a post office and the figure is scribbling furiously, its movements occasionally jolting the wobbly table and sending drops of coffee out over the metal surface.

 

It’s the second look that confirms the figure is Donald Scripps and, abandoning his plans, Dakin drops into the chair opposite.

 

“Mind if I sit?”

 

Scripps doesn’t jump; in fact, he doesn’t even look up but acts as if he expected to find Stu here. Dakin thinks that means perhaps, subconsciously, he wanted to.

 

“Why do you always turn up in the worst possible situations?” Scripps asks, not pausing in his scribbling.

 

Dakin shrugs, wondering what it says about their friendship and takes a sip of Scripps’ coffee. It’s disgusting.

 

“Jesus, haven’t you heard of diabetes? There are about six lumps of sugar in that!”

 

“I didn’t make it for you.” Scripps grumbles.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Writing a postcard.”

 

“I can see that. Why do you look so stressed? Who’s it to?”

 

“My Nan.”

 

“No, it’s not. Tell me.”

 

“None of your business. Oh for fuck’s sake, Dakin, now I’ve written that down!”

 

Scripps finally looks up, running his hand through his hair in frustration and smudging ink across his forehead as he does so.

 

“Seriously, what’s up?”

 

“It’s not important, only now I’ve got to buy another postcard.” He rips up the one in front of him and hurries next door without further comment.

 

Dakin picks up the torn card and examines it. It’s absolutely covered with cramped tiny writing, more ink than white space and not at all like Don’s usual large, flowing hand, but the most interesting thing is the words themselves. It seems to be mostly a love letter of sorts, but the mushy sentences dotted throughout do nothing to disguise the irritable tone and it comes across more passive-aggressive and cheesed off than brimming with genuine admiration.

 

Returning, Scripps plucks the torn fragments out of his hand. “That’s private.” He grumbles, blushing a little.

 

“I think it should remain that way. You can’t send that to Pos!”

 

“Well I can’t now, but I’m re-writing it.”

 

“No!” Dakin snatches the fresh card.

 

“Stu! I don’t have time for this shit, it’s important that I write to Pos.”

 

“I didn’t know you were trying to end things. Although the more traditional method is to dump him yourself, rather than try and get him to do it for you.”

 

“What? I’m not!”

 

“Then, in that case, I’m not letting you send anything along the lines of what you’ve written here.”

 

“You had no business reading it. You don’t know the circumstances.”

 

“You left it out for me to see. You didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t read it? Ergo, a part of you must want my help.”

 

“No one ever wants your help, Stu. Trust me.”

 

“Why are you in such a mood? And why are you taking it out on Pos?”

 

Scripps sighs. “You really think I shouldn’t send it?”

 

Dakin looks at him as if he’s grown an extra head. “Yes!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it’s bitter and passive aggressive and hints at how much your relationship sucks – that tends not to go down very well, especially when you put it on a postcard so everyone from his mum to Janice in the sorting office can read it.”

 

Scripps runs his hand through his hair again, leaving a fresh trail of ink.

 

“We’re having a tough time of it lately.”

 

“No shit.”

 

Scripps raises his eyebrow. “If you want me to pour my heart out to you, you’ll have to keep your smart comments to yourself.”

 

Holding back a grin, Dakin mimes zipping his mouth closed.

 

Scripps outlines the position and by the end of it, Dakin is feeling genuinely sorry for the pair of miserable bastards.

 

“That’s shit mate, but sending that is only going to make it worse. Even I can see that.”

 

“It must be a bad plan then.” Scripps chuckles ruefully.

 

“I think you just need to clear the air a little.”

 

“Thanks for the advice but neither of us are big on screaming rows and kicking people out in the middle of the night. That’s more in your style.”

 

Dakin rolls his eyes. “That was one time and he didn’t kick me out, I left. Besides the make up sex was phenomenal, it made the whole thing well worth it.”

 

“You can also keep the horrifically publicised make-up sex,” Scripps says, looking like he’s just swallowed sour milk.

 

“And how is glowering and seething in silence going for you so far?”

 

Scripps glares at him.

 

“You haven’t got the first idea what you’re doing, mate. He’s your first anything, maybe you just need a guiding hand.”

 

“Stuart, I’m serious. I appreciate the thought, but I wish you’d leave it.”

 

“Donald, fine. It’s your funeral.”

 

“Don’t call me Donald, twat face”

 

“Come home with me, we’ll get drunk and you can forget all about it if you like, otherwise we can formulate a plan of attack.”

 

Scripps nods and follows him dumbly as far as the tube station, but stops when Dakin turns to take the tunnel for the Victoria rather than the Northern line.

 

“You’re this way” He points, his expression blank.

 

Dakin can only assume that Scripps genuinely thinks he has forgotten how to reach his own home and, worryingly, doesn’t seem surprised.

 

“I know where my house is for Christ’s sake. I’m staying at Tom’s for the weekend.”

 

“Oh no, Stu. I really think…” He trails off, holding his palms out in front of him.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t want to make things awkward.”

 

“What do you call this then? Come on, we’ll miss the train.”

 

Without waiting for more blundering excuses, Dakin takes hold of Scripps’ sleeve and leads him to the platform.

 

“Won’t he mind?” Scripps leans over the head of a small lady to ask him as the train stutters between platforms.

 

Dakin almost twists his neck turning his face away from the exposed sweaty armpit of the giant standing next to him. It’s worth it to be able to breathe again.

 

“Mind what?”

 

“Me appearing there. It’s not as if we asked in advance.”

 

“Jesus Christ! He’s not my mum; I don’t need to ask him if you can come over for a drink.”

 

“Yeah, but you are a guest.”

 

“I think we’re getting to the root of why you’re having relationship troubles.”

 

Scripps scowls at him and leans back into his own half a square foot of space.

 

Scripps has never visited Irwin’s before and Dakin watches with a tinge of pride as his best friend takes in the bright top floor flat that a large part of him already thinks of as home.

 

It’s minimalist and mostly painted in white. This is not a purposeful design choice on Tom’s part, but is, rather, a side effect of him not owning a lot of stuff (other than books), being naturally neat, and having zero interest in interior décor ( _but,_ Dakin says, _really what more can you expect from someone who would willingly move **to** Sheffield?_). It’s to Dakin’s taste so he’s encouraged it, saying it makes the small space seem bigger – this has led to a substantial amount of teasing from Tom about him embracing his gay side. This doesn’t bother Dakin in the slightest as it usually escalates into play fighting and culminates in sex.

 

He instructs Scripps to make himself at home on the settee because God knows, without instructions he’ll probably lean awkwardly against the doorframe like he’s waiting outside the headmaster’s office. Satisfied that his friend is comfortable he finds a bottle of white wine in the fridge and a large bag of crisps in the cupboard, and together with glasses, carries his hoard to the coffee table.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posner doesn’t exactly feel like someone anyone would enjoy having as a boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is... not happy. 
> 
> I am very mean to Posner - sorry (warning for allusion to suicide attempts)

 

 

The weather has turned recently and along with the sun, out came the mums with buggies, the cute couples and the gangs of teenagers that have taken roost in the park. Posner avoids looking at all of them as he hurries along the road, wishing it was still raining so that nobody would wonder about him hurrying past with his head down on his way home from his shift in the bookshop.

 

It’s not that he has any reason to get home early, just that he feels safer there. The bright sunshine that seems to bring happiness to everyone else feels like a harsh spotlight on him when he would much rather hide.

 

He’s getting through the days lately by absorbing himself completely in classic films. When he’s not at work or with his mum the rest of the time is his to hole up and work through his new collection. They’re mostly from the library but, even so, he’s spent more than he can really afford on new ones, even had some ordered in for him. His only criteria are that they must be in black and white, and made before he was born. He’s currently getting through three a week. He finds they give him something to keep going for – waiting for the next one, that and they stop him thinking about his own life when he’s alone, and provide something to do at three o’clock in the morning when he can’t sleep.

 

There’s nothing waiting for him from Scrippsy when he arrives home. There hasn’t been for days, but he had hoped. Actually, that’s a lie because he had been dreading finding something on the mat for him when he got home, the thought of it had been sending waves of anxiety over him all day, making him feel light headed and nauseous.

 

He’s told Scripps about the paralysing dread that he’s going to get tired of Pos and end things - he had to when Scripps phoned the shop to make sure Pos was still alive after his last three letters and all his phone calls to the house went unanswered. Since then ever-considerate Scrippsy has taken to writing post cards to save Posner the anxiety of opening the letters or answering the phone.

 

He may have been dreading finding a postcard waiting for him, and the thought of Scripps’s disappointment and irritation with him laid bare on the mat, but not finding one is much worse. Misery settles like a stone in his gut as he forces a smile in place and goes into the living room to greet his mum.

 

The past few months without his dad have been tough for both of them, and he tries not to add to his mother’s burden by letting her know that there’s anything amiss.

 

He provides silent company while she cooks and after they’ve eaten dinner he washes up and tidies everything away before the part he dreads: sitting in the living room together where, more often than not, she wants to talk about his dad.

 

It finally gets late enough for him to head up to bed without worrying his mum. He wishes her goodnight with a feeling of immense relief.

 

“Are you alright, love?” She asks, sparing the clock a worried glance.

 

“Just tired” He smiles weakly.

 

Closing the door of his bedroom behind him feels as if a heavy weight has lifted off him. Sitting on his bed, he lets the tears fall unchecked for a few moments, just breathing.

 

Then he reaches for his diary. Scripps told him to keep it, said it might help, but all he ever seems to manage is a brief line about how awful he feels. He never remembers to write it down when anything good happens.

 

Mostly, he misses Scripps. He longs to call him and pour his heart out, have a good cry if he needs to, even. But he knows what Scripps will say: ‘come down here for a weekend and we’ll be together and you’ll cheer up’.

 

Calling means having to hear the resigned disappointment in Scripps’s voice and summon the energy to try to explain that he just _can’t_ face the journey down, and what would be the point anyway? When all he’ll do once he arrives is make Scripps worry. It isn’t as if Posner is sleeping or eating like a normal person and he’s too anxious to leave the house except to go to work.

 

He doesn’t exactly feel like someone anyone would enjoy having as a boyfriend.

 

Besides, every time they’ve spoken the past week they’ve ended up arguing and he doesn’t have the strength for it today.

 

Scripps’ anger is something he just can’t face, not now, not when the only thing keeping him fighting sometimes is the memory of Scripps’s ashen white face by his bedside last year begging him _“Please don’t ever do that to me again”._

 

The thought intrudes that now Scripps might not care.

 

Posner pushes it down with an effort; it’s enough to send him over the edge again if he lets it take root.

 

Oddly, the memory reminds him of Oxford. Looking back on his time there he feels like it was the pinnacle of his life. Everything before was an uphill struggle leading up to it and ever since nothing has seemed to be worth it. It feels like he’s just killing time before death. Bottles of paracetamol notwithstanding, he thinks that was the happiest he will ever be. But then when he was at Oxford he’d thought that about school, and he knew that was shit as well. Maybe he’s just not destined for happiness.

 

He packs the diary away unused and flicks open the book of poetry on his bedside table. It’s commonly his late-night companion but tonight it’s coming out early.

 

_‘'Hope' is the thing with feathers - that perches in the soul - and sings the tune without the words - and never stops - at all -’_

 

He doesn’t understand it, Timms’s words of long ago float back to him: it hasn’t happened to him yet, after all, but for some reason it makes him think of Scripps, maybe because it’s about music, maybe it’s just that everything does.

 

 _“I’d do anything you asked if it would make you happy, I swear”_ He’d said once, back in that hospital room. _Make you happy:_ it always sounds so aggressive.

 

Wiping his face roughly, he goes for his video stash and the new Orson Welles collection he picked up yesterday. Time to stop thinking about his own life for today.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scripps feels ganged up on

 

 

Tom returns home in a good mood, It’s one of Stuart’s regular evenings at his (Tom hasn’t yet managed to control grinning like a lunatic at the thought) and as Stu’s been stressed lately about his looming final law exams, Tom had the idea of persuading him to spend the sunny Friday evening in the beer garden of the local. He is happily anticipating a warm, slightly boozy evening unwinding together, guilt-free for one night.

 

When he lets himself into the flat he finds Stu already there, ensconced in an armchair with a glass of white (Tom is responsible for getting him into wine, something that makes him ‘insufferably’ proud or so he’s been told). However, the unexpected presence of Donald Scripps on the sofa is an undeniable kink in his plan.

 

There’s no rule that says Stu can’t have friends over though, and as the two of them never actually made any plans to spend the evening as a couple, Tom makes an effort to shelve his disappointment – Stu’s degree will be finished in another month anyway and there will be many more summer evenings to enjoy together, after all.

 

The trouble is, Scripps has always made him nervous, the man gives the impression that he can see straight through him, and Tom doesn’t like it at all.

 

Making an effort to avoid behaving in any way that might qualify as awkward, he greets them both politely and heads straight over to the kitchen to make coffee.

 

“Oi!” Stu calls out after him, frowning. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

 

“I’m ecstatic at seeing you, as always” Tom deadpans, flicking the kettle on.

 

Changing tactics, Stuart turns to his friend. “Coffee, Scrippsy?”

 

Scripps looks slightly wary. “Er, thanks?”

 

Ignoring the rising plea in his friend’s voice, Stu follows Tom over to the kitchenette.

 

It’s always like this when the three of them meet: Scripps and Tom may as well be competing at doing the most spectacular piss-poor job of hiding how uncomfortable they are with the shift in dynamic: specifically that he, Stu, is currently shagging their former history teacher.

 

Today, they’re both tiptoeing around the issue that Tom ought to kiss him hello, to act like his boyfriend rather than his former teacher (and grin his stupid grin and tell him he’s missed him all day and can’t wait to get him into bed). Stu knows full well that Tom wants to but feels like he shouldn’t in front of Scripps, and that Scripps feels that he should, but is desperately hoping decency and modesty will prevail and that he won’t.

 

Stu couldn’t give a fuck about either of their ridiculous preconceptions about how Tom as his ex-teacher-cum-boyfriend ought to behave, and wishes they would both get over themselves.

 

“Hey.” Stu rubs a hand across Tom’s shoulders. “We had a fight or something I don’t know about?”

 

“No, it’s just –“ Tom nods towards Scripps, who is concentrating very hard on the bookshelves.

 

“You don’t mind, do you? Only - ”

 

“No! No, not at all.” Tom is almost too keen to make his non-objection clear. “It’s just it’s a bit…”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing” Tom whispers, his ears going pink.

 

“Hey” Stu says again, stopping Tom from pouring out the water with a hand on top of his.

 

He waits for Tom to look at him before he leans in and plants a kiss on his lips. It goes on for slightly longer than necessary and when he pulls back Tom is trying not to grin.

 

“Good day?”

 

“Yeah, it was actually.” Tom’s voice has gone soft and husky and Stu grins back.

 

“Good.”

 

“You?”

 

“Not bad, thanks” Raising his voice loud enough for Scripps to hear, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards his friend. “Met this miserable bastard on the way home.”

 

Coffee poured, Stu delivers a quick (and loud) smack to Tom’s arse and carries two cups back towards the sofa and a very pink Scripps.

 

“Here, Tom could probably help you out.”

 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to put you out” Scripps replies, hastily.

 

“No really, he probably knows all about this sort of thing. His mum’s a psycho too.”

 

“Stu!”

 

He rolls his eyes, unconcerned at the twin shouts of indignation.

 

“Just because my mum doesn’t like you, Stuart, that doesn’t make her a psycho.” Tom scolds from the counter, before turning his attention to his newspaper with a frown.

 

“Indeed, most mothers don’t like you, you ought to be used to it” Scripps agrees. “Anyway,” He grumbles “the problem isn’t anyone’s mum being a psycho!”

 

“Fine. Well, I reckon Tom’s been through this before.”

 

“Stu” Scripps warns.

 

“Would you like me to work in the other room?” Tom asks Scripps. “I really don’t need to hear if it’s private.”

 

“Don’t be daft, it’s your flat!” Stu exclaims.

 

“I don’t mind.”

 

“No, it’s fine. It's just, well, me and David are having a bit of a disagreement. You know we’re… well y’know?”

 

“Bonking.” Stu supplies, helpfully.

 

Tom comes over and sits down in the armchair opposite Dakin, leaving Scripps feeling a bit hemmed in.

 

“Going long-distance” Scripps corrects with a roll of his eyes.

 

“I had assumed.”

 

“Well, what with me getting the job down here and him having to live with his mum for… various reasons”

 

Tom takes it that he’s not supposed to know about Posner’s stint in the psychiatric hospital or about his father’s recent death, and so says nothing.

 

“It sort of happens that it’s few and far between when we get to spend time together and, well, I’m a bit down about it. Stu said I should come by for a chat. Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.”

 

Tom frowns. “Why doesn’t he come and stay with you for a bit?”

 

“He insists on paying his way and he doesn’t have a lot of cash. The market isn’t exactly in his favour because – well, he can only work part time currently. I don’t have time to go up there often, it’s pretty shit honestly.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Thanks. Anyway, I thought it’d be nice to go up there for the long weekend, but my Gran’s had a bit of a turn and she’s staying with my parents. Mum and Dad know about me and David and they’re ok, but Gran …” He shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee “We won’t be able to stay there together, and I mean, it’s fine, but the obvious solution is for me to stay with him.”

 

“But his mum won’t have it?”

 

“Well, I don’t know.”

 

“Posner refuses to tell her.” Stu pipes in.

 

“I don’t see the problem,” Scripps says, growing heated “she hardly escaped the Nazis so she could be a bigot. As it turns out I shouldn’t have said that, at least not to his face.”

 

Tom tries to stifle a snigger.

 

“I see why you’re commiserating with Stu, then.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

There’s a twinkle in Tom’s eye as he turns to his boyfriend.

 

“Your foot’s hardly ever out of your mouth.”

 

“Is it fuck!”

 

“You just called my mum a psycho.”

 

“That’s rich coming from Mr. See-how-much-you-can-get-away-with-and-then-push-it”

 

Scripps is starting to look extremely uncomfortable at being flirted over.

 

Thankfully for him, Tom notices and clears his throat, turning his attention back to Scripps, serious again.

 

“It’s hard to force these things. It can be difficult at the best of times. Just give him space.”

 

Predictably, Stu disagrees.

 

“He’ll dither forever if Scrippsy does that. What he needs is a push. Why did you come out? That was difficult.”

 

Tom pulls his _I’d rather not talk about it_ face and then sighs defeat a second later, because they both know it’s a red letter day when he refuses Stuart anything.

 

“I was young, I had principals about it.”

 

Scripps laughs loudly.

 

“What’s up with you?” Stu asks while Tom frowns.

 

“Really, though.”

 

“Really!”

 

“What, you? I can’t imagine you being principled about anything.”

 

“Thanks”

 

Irwin looks actually hurt. Scripps decides yet again that he will never understand the man.

 

“What happened to perspective?”

 

Tom purses his lips “That came later.”

 

“Ignore Scrippsy, just because he works for the Guardian now he thinks he’s better than us. I want to hear why.”

 

“You know why.”

 

“Well, I want him to hear. Might stop him looking so black and white at things.”

 

Scripps is indignant. “Excuse me! You’re more black and white than a flock of bloody penguins!”

 

“Shut up. Tom’s trying to tell you something.”

 

Tom isn’t, in fact, but he goes on just for the sake of not adding more fuel to the bickering.

 

“I was in the gay and lesbian society at Uni.”

 

It’s Stu’s turn for an incredulous giggle.

 

“I didn’t know that. Did you organise the discos, or was it sorting out the condom budget?”

 

“How about you shut up?”

 

“Sorry, excuse me for finding you adorable.”

 

Tom goes bright pink and Scripps coughs loudly.

 

“Anyway, all of my friends encouraged me, said it was like a ripping off plaster - best to do it quickly. They all persuaded me that it’d be ok” He pauses to take a deep breath “…and I met this bloke in our first year and I wanted my parents to meet him, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone”

 

He rolls his eyes at his own motivations – as if being young and in love was something shameful that only happened to the stupidest people.

 

“It wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made.”

 

“They didn’t take it well?” Scripps asks.

 

“I handled it badly … I rushed into it - my mum hated him which made it a hundred times worse. Things were iffy for a bit, I mean, we spoke but I wasn’t allowed to live with them after I graduated and then we lost touch for a bit when I moved to Yorkshire.”

 

Scripps turns his coffee cup in his hands trying, and failing, to not feel sorry for Irwin.

 

“You have to appreciate that not everyone takes that sort of news well. Posner’s mum is quite elderly, if she takes it badly then he might not have the time to make it up. Does he have to sacrifice losing his relationship with his mother to prove that your relationship is important to him?”

 

“No, of course not! That’s not what I mean!” Scripps exclaims, horrified, his cheeks flushing with anger. “You said yourself though, it was the way you handled it that caused the problems.”

 

Being on his home territory seems to give him confidence, or maybe it’s the revoltingly adoring look he’s getting from Dakin, but Irwin drives his argument like Scripps remembers him doing back at school – he wonders if he’s any more sincere this time.

 

“I remember his mother didn’t want him singing hymns. She sounds quite strict to me, I can’t imagine she’s going to be overjoyed however he does it.”

 

“So, d’you regret it?” Scripps counters, unwilling to admit that both he and David might be right there.

 

Tom makes a thoughtful moue.

 

“No.”

 

Scripps leans back in his seat in satisfaction.

 

“I don’t think it’s a proper relationship if we pretend it doesn’t exist, especially if we can’t even see each other.”

 

Tom leans forwards in response, giving Scripps the vague impression that he’s being chased.

 

“Look, you have a supportive family and that’s wonderful, but I don’t think you get it. I nearly lost my mum and that was… fine – we used to be close and it hurt, but I could cope. Posner – he’s been through a rough time already, as I understand it.”

 

“You’re saying I’m being selfish.” Scripps frowns, unsure of whether to stay on the defensive or to give Irwin’s advice a chance.

 

“I’m saying it’s easy to focus on the small stuff, on the here and now. We’re back to perspective.”

 

“You get on with your mum now?”

 

Tom blinks, hesitating for a split second before he nods. “Yes.”

 

“What about your dad?”

 

“Less of an issue there. Unvoiced disapproval only.”

 

Scripps rubs his hand over his hair and takes some deep breaths, forcing himself to think before he continues. Much as it pains him, he has to admit that Irwin might be talking sense.

 

Tom watches him like an owl throughout, while Stu picks his fingernails.

 

“Ok” He says at length “I don’t want to make his life more difficult, I certainly don’t want to make things difficult with his mum, but I love him and I hate being apart.”

 

“Why don’t you book a hotel?”

 

“He won’t let me pay for stuff like that and he can’t.”

 

“You’re going to have to talk to him.”

 

“That’s what I said.” Stu grins smugly like he’s still trying to be teacher’s pet.

 

“If the real issue is how you feel about being apart, you need to talk about that with him. Leave the rest of it for now.”

 

“What am I supposed to say to him, though? He already knows how things are.”

 

Tom shrugs. “Try putting it another way? You’re a journalist, you know about playing to people’s biases.”

 

“Manipulate him you mean.” Scripps frowns.

 

“Persuade him using your knowledge of his personality, his psychology.” Tom shrugs. “It’s what everyone does, the only difference is that you know how to do it well. Just stay on topic, don’t bring the other stuff into it, and don’t let it devolve into a fight.”

 

Stu’s gaze flicks from Tom to Scripps, looking insufferably proud and nauseatingly adoring. Scripps gives them five minutes between him leaving and the pair of them fucking like bunnies. He immediately curses his brain for the image.

 

“Coffee too strong?” Dakin asks, misinterpreting his involuntary wince.

 

“Just, went down the wrong way.”

 

“Right.” Stu’s grin says he knows otherwise.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm calling Irwin's old LGBTQ+ union the 'gay and lesbian society' because I figure if he went to uni some time in the mid to late '70s that's probably the most likely name for it (in case it annoys anyone)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are discussed, letters are written, and Dakin tries to earn himself a(nother) smack.

 

 

When Scripps wakes up on Saturday morning he immediately decides against ever mixing white wine, espresso and cheese and onion crisps again.

 

After brushing his teeth and making a pot of tea that still tastes funny, he takes out his stack of blank postcards and starts to write to Pos, begrudgingly heeding Irwin’s advice and leaving out anything that might be construed as contentious. It’s brief - staring at the few lines of script he suddenly realises how angry with David he actually is. With a stab of guilt, he gives it up after a few well-meaning but vague lines and heads out to post it before he changes his mind, feeling in need of the fresh air.

 

 

 

Dakin has a more pleasant start to the weekend. He wakes up late and relaxed on Saturday, he’s alone in the bed, but he can hear Tom loudly attempting to do something in the other room. Stretching leisurely, he relishes the warm ache that travels up through his body – A kissing session on the sofa that began after Scripps’s departure the night before soon turned horizontal and wound up with Tom getting delightfully bossy with him. Stu luxuriates for a few minutes in the bed, recalling the late evening. They’d rounded off a very enjoyable few hours relaxing together with their feet up in front of the telly, munching on oven chips and salad, which was all either of them could muster the effort to cook. It’s no wonder Scripps thinks he’s gone revoltingly domestic, Stu reflects. Even a few months ago, he probably would have cared about the implications, but he can’t be arsed any more – or at least not right at this moment. Briefly, he wonders what that means, but he’d rather not waste time on it and distracts himself with thoughts of his friends and their apparently less-than-rosy situation.

 

Resolving to do something about it, he drags himself out of bed with the vague idea of doing himself a fry up and heads into the kitchen, where Tom is stumbling through the morning.

 

Propping himself at the end of the counter he watches for a few moments, amused as a barely awake Tom tries to supply himself with some caffeine.

 

“Did you mean what you said yesterday?” He asks in lieu of good morning, watching Tom staring blearily at the kettle.

 

Tom pokes his fingers beneath the lenses of his glasses to rub at his eyes. “What?”

 

“What you said yesterday. Did. You. Mean. It?” Stu repeats, slower this time.

 

Tom cocks his head, thinking.

 

“About you wiping lube on my sofa? Definitely, though I’ll reserve my right to confine spanking sessions to special occasions.” Only half paying attention to what he’s saying, Tom fiddles angrily with the cafetiere, growing frustrated as it defies his sleep-clumsy fingers.

 

“… when I’m in the mood.” He adds as an afterthought; it never hurts to be crystal clear with Stuart when it comes to sex if one wishes to avoid randomly timed ambushes.

 

“No, about Posner!”

 

“Bloody thing!” Tom snaps, as the filter puts up an unforeseen show of resistance. Pausing his tantrum he looks up and sighs.

 

“Stu, I haven’t had my coffee yet!”

 

Stu tuts at him, plucking the contraption from his hands and performs some trickery to make it behave itself.

 

“Et voila! Now, what you said to Scripps.”

 

“Oh, Stuart, I don’t want to be involved, certainly not before coffee.” He half turns away, giving his glasses a nudge back into place - a sure sign that it won’t take too much effort to break him down.

 

“Jesus, when I was younger and my mum pissed him off, my dad used to tell me: _“You’ve got all that PMT shit in your future”_ and then I end up with you and your coffee moods every bloody morning. That’s irony for you.”

 

“I’m too caffeine deprived to waste energy on that cheap jibe.” Tom scowls, pouring hot water out at last and sparking up a fag while he waits. He doesn’t miss the _‘end up with’_ though, and his stomach flitters with butterflies at the implication.

 

The air fills with the rich smell of brewing coffee.

 

Smiling, Stu takes a seat at the table opposite his boyfriend, idly contemplating that lazy weekend mornings are the best thing about being in a serious relationship.

 

He doesn’t call it that out loud: _a serious relationship_ – certainly not when speaking to Tom, but privately he allows himself to think of it as such. It constantly amazes him that it doesn’t scare the shit out of him.

 

It being a designated lazy morning, neither of them has yet summoned the motivation to shower or dress, and Tom’s collarbones are shamelessly bare above the open neck of his dressing gown. At least half of Stu’s brain is occupied with thoughts of marking them with his teeth.

 

“Seriously, though, what do you think?”

 

“I think you’re a busy-body” Tom mutters between swigs of precious coffee.

 

“I think it’s serious – I’ve never known Scrippsy this on edge – and I’ve known him since he was nine….”

 

Tom doesn’t react so he tries another tack “You never would have asked me out if it weren’t for him and Pos.” He wheedles.

 

“That’s true” Tom acknowledges.

 

“Think of the terrible sex life you’d have if it weren’t for them! Surely you owe them something”

 

“I might still have had a decent sex life” Tom grumbles.

 

“Oh what, back with your ex, is it? What was it you called him? Boring Brummie Brian”

 

“I told you that was never serious”

 

“Yeah, you also told me his hobby was trains and he only knew gay and standard missionary positions in the sack.”

 

“Last time I tell you anything.” Tom grumbles into his mug “I was just having a laugh and trying to soothe your fucking ego. I didn’t expect you to use it as a stick to beat me with at the breakfast table.”

 

“You can talk… sir” Stu smirks, wiggling his sore arse a little and causing Tom to blush tomato red from the roots of his hair to below the open collar of his dressing gown.

 

Tom coughs and stutters and Stu’s smirk widens, prematurely celebrating his success in derailing the argument, even as he resolves to not become sidetracked by trying to find out just how far beneath his robe Tom’s blush has crept.

 

“Besides, I broke up with him months before we got together” Tom mutters, crossly, not quite willing to surrender the last word; but he doesn’t seek to defend the point any further.

 

“Exactly” Stu grins. “Left to your own devices you’d just have landed up with another dossbag, what with your pulling skills.”

 

“Did you want my help or are you just going to insult me?”

 

“I’m not saying anything bad about you. Just… you’re shy”

 

“You really can stop talking now. In fact, I advise it.”

 

Stu rolls his eyes “Fine, you’re an aggressively confident sex fiend, no man is safe. Happy? Now, Scripps and Posner.”

 

Tom sighs, heavily, still tinged pink with embarrassment.

 

“We could invite Posner to stay for a weekend?”

 

“What, here?” Stu nearly says ‘ _with us?_ ’ but catches himself just in time.

 

“You’re an old school friend, after all” Tom gives an awkward, one-shouldered shrug. “It might cheer him up to feel like you miss his company. He and Scripps can go out together during the day and if they can’t work the nights out between them, then that’s their problem.”

 

“Where would we put him?”

 

The look Tom gives him is half-fond half-scathing. “I’m not suggesting he snuggle up with us. He won’t mind the sofa for a few nights, surely? If all goes to plan he’ll end up staying with Scripps anyway”

 

Stu stands and, taking Tom’s face in his hands, plants a big kiss on his mouth.

 

“You’re brilliant.”

 

 

*****

 

Things with Don start to settle down after the bank holiday, although neither the subject of the aborted visit or of Posner coming out to his mum is mentioned again, which leaves David feeling wrong-footed: Don had been so insistent before. On the other hand, he isn’t sure that he could physically stand another fight, (conducted in hushed tones on the shop phone, his heart thumping with the worry of someone walking in), so he doesn’t push for clarification. The postcards return although Don doesn’t say much of any note.

 

When David gets a letter about a week later he’s almost sick. He is tempted to take the day off because he hardly feels fit for work, but the thought of sitting in the room with it all day is enough to send him out of the door.

 

The anxiety hangs over him for the next two days until he’s brave enough to pull the letter out of its hiding place under the pile of books next to his bed.

 

Looking at it again, he almost laughs with relief. He hadn’t noticed before that the envelope isn’t in Scripps’s handwriting at all. Even so, he knows it well, he ought to: he spent nearly a year copying it. He tears it open and scans the single page.

 

Then he does laugh, because some mad part of his brain had assumed that if Don wanted to end things he would send a formal letter of notice and David can suddenly see the absurdity of it.

 

According to his letter, Dakin is stressing about his final law exams and feels bad he hasn’t been in touch more. He all but actually says that he’s missing Posner. He’s making tentative plans to move in with Irwin after graduation, apparently, which does give David a giggle, and he concludes by asking if Posner would he come and stay with them for a week after the exams are done? He makes no mention of Scripps, which strikes David as odd, knowing how close the two of them have always been.

 

Still chuckling to himself, he tucks the letter away in his bedside drawer along with Don’s postcards.

 

If they were on better terms he’d call or write to Scrippsy to tell him all about it and laugh at his own foolishness and gossip derisively about Dakin, but he isn’t sure that Don would appreciate it and so he lets fear of disappointment stop him. It hurts.

 

He means to refuse, of course, there was never any question of it, except the thought nags at him over the next few days that he _could_ accept if he wanted to. There was no reason why not. Dakin wouldn’t expect much at all, wouldn’t know how to talk about his dad so there would be no clumsy attempts to sit politely through, and he is too insensitive to tiptoe around Posner’s current state, which often kicks off the fights he has with Don. The more he thinks about it, the more he decides it might just provide the break he’s been desperate for.

 

The thought of Irwin’s presence makes him a bit anxious. David never particularly liked him at school, although now he’s willing to admit, if only to himself, that this was almost entirely based on jealousy over Dakin’s affection.

 

The experiences he’s had of Irwin, since he became ‘Tom’, after he started dating Dakin last year are more favourable, but have been mostly limited to uncomfortable silences and even more uncomfortable accidental breaches of privacy. Not that Dakin ever minded those, Irwin, on the other hand, barely spoke to either David or Scripps other than what constitutes basic good manners, and on every occasion when they met he seemed extremely embarrassed by their presence.

 

He’s in two minds about whether to accept the invitation until he sits down to actually respond. He lingers ages on writing ‘Dear Dakin’ and finishes the rest in a frenzy, sealing the envelope before he can have time to go back on his decision.

 

 

*****

 

On those nights that he spends at the flat (it’s _the flat_ now, as opposed to _Tom’s flat_ , in just another one of those minor tectonic shifts that Stuart is waiting to send him running), it’s normal for Stu to spend a few hours taking notes and reading through books and papers for his upcoming exams. It’s rare, however, for it to continue late into the evening, and it’s even rarer for Tom to decide to head to bed alone and for no reason other than tiredness.

 

Doing a final quick clean up of the place before he turns in, Tom finds Stu still at the table in the kitchen, where he’s been since their shared dinner hours ago. He appears more dishevelled than the last time Tom saw him, with his sleeves rolled up above the elbow and his hair standing on end, hedgehog-like, from repeatedly running his fingers through it.

 

Tom peers over his shoulder to see what it is that’s causing him so much trouble.

 

“What’s this? Difficult class?”

 

“Nah, Invitation to Pos. I’ve been hours thinking about how best to phrase it” He sighs, setting down his pen and pushing a hand through his spiky hair once more.

 

Tom sits down opposite him, trying to control his smile. “It’s all very formal. Why don’t you just call him up and ask?”

 

“And make it easy for him to give a knee-jerk refusal that he can stubbornly stick to for the rest of eternity? No, much easier to write: much more Posner’s style. Old fashioned, sincere, convince him I’m serious that I’ve been missing having him about. Besides, he’s more likely to accept if the thought has time to germinate.”

 

“I would have thought a letter is easier to ignore completely”

 

“Not for Posner, he’s too polite not to respond.”

 

“Have I ever told you that you’re depressingly Machiavellian?” Tom asks with a small frown that’s entirely put on.

 

Stu’s tired face lights up in a grin. “Thanks”

 

“Not a compliment.”

 

“Yeah, it was.”

 

“Alright, it was. But you’re still frightening”

 

“You love it”

 

Dakin has to wait a week for his answer but, eventually, patience pays off.

 

He will come, Pos writes, but warns Dakin not to expect too much of him. They arrange for him to come for a visit once Stu’s exams are done – he blames them, telling Pos he’s stressed and needs the comfort of old friends.

 

 

For the moment, he keeps it from Scripps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this beast keeps growing - it's going to be long O.O. 
> 
> If you fancy letting me know then please tell me what you like, or what you didn't. Comments give me life, I love them all x


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dakin finds ~~babysitting~~ entertaining the chronically depressed to be more of a challenge than he was anticipating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a half-chapter but I want to keep up with this on a regular basis and I capped it here for length so the next one will pick up where this leaves off (meh, I never said I was a proper writer)

 

The Posner who arrives is very different from the person Dakin remembers from uni. He bears a slightly stronger resemblance from the boy-Posner back at Cutlers, but lacks any of the ballsiness and sharp humour he had then.

 

Dakin thinks it best not to introduce the idea of Scripps at first, but rather try to act like he wants to catch up. However, the man currently sitting on the sofa wearing Posner’s skin is hollow-eyed and gives robotic answers to simple questions. Whenever Dakin tries more complex attempts at conversation, long lapses of silence and glazed eyes make it clear that he isn't listening, so making even an ostensible attempt at catching up is difficult, to say the least.

 

Dakin is starting to think Scripps isn’t being over-dramatic about things after all.

 

Posner doesn’t seem to be up for doing much at all when Dakin tries to arrange something for the evening, and doesn’t manage to express much enthusiasm for even the things he does agree to - Dakin gets the feeling Pos is only agreeing to stuff so he’ll stop asking.

 

He turns tired eyes on Dakin “I’m sorry I’m not really in the mood for anything much, I’m quite tired”

 

“That’s ok we can do something low key”

 

"I expect you've had a long journey" Tom pacifies, but Stu is having none of it.

 

"It's only three hours on the train"

 

“Stuart”

 

Hands jammed in his pockets, Tom jerks his head towards the door, with all the subtlety of a tap-dancing rhino. If Posner notices, however, he doesn't seem to mind.

 

“Leave him be, stop badgering him,” Tom scolds in whispered tones as soon as they're outside the door.

 

“I’m not demanding anything too taxing, just asking if he fancies a walk in the park or a trip to the pub or something. I thought he could tag along for pub night, might cheer him up”

 

“It’s ok if he doesn’t want to”

 

“He can’t be having much fun just sitting there! I’m supposed to be putting him in a more positive mind frame, I can’t do that if I’m allowing this… _moping_ ”

 

Tom sighs and nudges his glasses “why don’t you go to the pub without me and I’ll stay in and keep him company?”

 

“Sounds a bit shit for you if he’s like this”

 

“Stuart,” Tom hisses through his teeth “He’s depressed, he isn’t deaf”

 

“Fine, as long as you don’t mind. I need to have a think anyway”

 

“Don’t strain yourself” Tom mutters **almost** under his breath.

 

*****

 

When Dakin arrives home just after closing time, they’re both reading quietly - or rather Tom is reading, it looks more like Pos is just staring blankly at an open magazine. He recognises it as one of Tom's off the coffee table. As far as Dakin can tell, he hasn’t moved from his spot on the sofa since he arrived.

 

He decides to make an early night of it and goes to bed strategising.

 

The next day is more challenging and the morning dents his enthusiasm for the task slightly. Tom is at work and Dakin is in no mood to sit about the house looking glum all day. After some persuasion, he manages to get Posner to agree to come out, although he stubbornly refuses to take the tube anywhere.

 

Dakin had been fostering hopes of cheering him up with a visit to one of the museums or perhaps a trip to one of the big book or music shops in the West End, but the furthest he manages to drag him is the beer garden of one of the local pubs that Dakin frequents.

 

“I don’t cope well with crowds” Pos shrugs by way of apology when they’re seated in the leafy arbour, a pint of cider each.

 

Unsure of what he ought to say, Dakin simply nods and takes a sip of his drink.

 

Conversation is slow going, especially as he’s making every effort to avoid mentioning Scripps until he has a plan of how to approach things. Somehow he gets the feeling that a simple offer of a sympathetic ear won’t get him far.

 

“Been up to much lately?” He tries after five minutes of drinking in mutual silence.

 

“Not really, I’m working in the bookshop back home part-time.”

 

Dakin nods again.

 

“You like it there?”

 

“It’s alright” Posner shrugs.

 

Any further polite enquiries about his job are met with a silent shrug from Posner.

 

Dakin has to pace himself so he doesn’t drink too fast out of boredom and end up drunk in record time.

 

He ends up trying to fill in the silence and provide a base level of cheeriness by himself, partly in an attempt to cheer his friend up and partly to curb the urge to give Pos a firm smack in the hopes of snapping him out of it.

 

After telling a few anecdotes about amusing things that have happened on his law degree involving people Posner doesn't know, Dakin falls back on the safe topics of school, Oxford and Tom and eventually realises after the third pint that he’s been talking non-stop for the past two hours.

 

“I’m pleased you’re happy” Pos smiles condescendingly once he falls silent, and, with a wash of horror, Dakin realises he’s been talking relentlessly about Tom for the past quarter of an hour.

 

Face hot, he coughs and casts about for a change of subject.

 

“You hungry?”

 

“Starved”

 

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

 

Posner shrugs. Dakin experiences the by now familiar urge to give him a slap.

 

Dakin takes him to a deli he’s fond of that’s owned by a hot heterosexual couple (the man is a broad-shouldered Italian and the wife is just the right combination of petite and plump and sports a bleach blonde pixie cut. Dakin fancies the pants off both of them),

 

“Does Tom know you eye up waitresses?” disapproval dripping from every syllable, Posner follows his gaze to where the female owner is bending over to wipe down a table.

 

“What?” Dakin snaps. “I don’t know. Probably”

 

In fact, he never brings Tom here for this exact reason – he’s only relatively recently discovered Tom’s jealous side, which is an ugly side street off his insecurity highway. Not that Dakin _**hates**_ it - it’s hugely flattering, and cute in its own way, not to mention he feels it goes a long way to excuse his own possessive side (or, as Tom calls it, his ‘territorial ego’) - But it can be a massive pain in the arse when left to run unchecked and Dakin isn’t fool enough to sign himself up for suffering untold days of waspish sulking.

 

In spite of insisting on being starved, Posner only picks at his sandwich.

 

Dakin is so absorbed in his own lunch he doesn't notice that his friend has hardly eaten anything until he's finished, wiping his fingers and letting out a satisfied belch.

 

“You can get something else if you like," Dakin offers, disappointed. "I don’t mind paying if you’re short.”

 

“What? Oh, no - it’s nice, I was just thinking”

 

“Anything interesting?”

 

“Just about Scrippsy”

 

Dakin hadn’t dared to hope it would be this easy.

 

“I expect you’ll want to see him while you’re in town” He tries for a casual tone.

 

“I’ll have to see if he’s busy” Posner mumbles without enthusiasm.

 

This reluctance is unexpected and he isn’t quite sure how to factor it into his plan. Dakin can barely remember a time when the two of them weren’t practically joined at the hip.

 

“Didn’t you tell him you were coming for a visit?” He asks, playing dumb

 

“Not yet” Posner sighs in response, poking at a bit of tomato

 

“He’ll be glad of the surprise”

 

Posner’s answering smile is weak.

 

“Does he talk about me at all?” He directs the question to his desecrated sandwich.

 

“Of course”

 

“And?” He looks up at Dakin, finally, blue eyes shining with hope.

 

“Just says he misses you, that sort of thing”

 

Posner’s face freezes. “Dakin, please don’t tell me you’ve invited me down here in order to set me up on some ridiculous blind date with my own boyfriend”

 

“What? No, I haven’t even mentioned that you’re here”

 

“And you haven’t invited him along at any point this week without mentioning it?”

 

“I’ve barely spoken to him since we celebrated the end of my course! Fucking hell, what’s got into the pair of you?”

 

Posner closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Would you mind if we went back to the flat?”

 

*****

 

“That’s my plan down the drain anyway” He gripes to Tom that night as they lie facing each other in the semi-darkness of their bedroom.

 

“Honestly, it was a pretty shit plan anyway” Tom whispers.

 

“Excuse me, it was an excellent plan” Stu huffs, carding his fingers through the short silky strands of Tom’s fringe

 

“Stuart, it’s the kind of plan my nephew would come up with and he’s three”

 

“It was your idea to invite him” Stu grumbles.

 

“Yeah, but not to keep it a secret from Scripps”

 

“What’s the difference? they’re refusing to see each other anyway”

 

Tom smiles, indulgently. “I’m sure you’ll think of something”

 

Stuart is not at all fond of that smile. He frowns.

 

"There’s another spanner in the works as well. I’ve got an interview tomorrow”

 

Tom's hands smooth across his t-shirt clad back. “I haven’t forgotten”

 

Stu smirks through the gloom.

 

“You going to wish me luck?” 

 

“Good luck” Tom sighs, snuggling into his pillow

 

“Thanks. I meant more… hands-on”

 

Tom’s smile doesn’t flicker. “No”

 

Stu’s hand stills in his hair. “Oh”

 

“Not with a guest next door”

 

“Fuck sake”

 

Stu turns over to glare at the ceiling.

 

“It’s only Pos” he tries after a second of contemplation. “he’s heard us before”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to repeat the experience” Still smiling, Tom kisses his shoulder and turns over to sleep, signalling an end to the conversation.

 

Stu retaliates by rutting softly into the small of his back to show Tom what he’s missing out on. Annoyingly, this only provokes a sleepy chuckle.

 

 

The interview is something Dakin hadn’t factored into his plans. Keen to stay in the capital once his degree was finished, he’s been sending applications for entry-level positions and internships at solicitors firms all over London for weeks. In spite of this, he didn’t expect to receive an invitation to an interview scheduled two weeks after the end of his exams. The results aren't even in for another month.

 

The contract is shit but he’s pretty much guaranteed a job at the end of six months if he’s successful, and with a first class degree from Oxford under his belt and the final law exams easier than he’d been expecting, he isn’t worried about a half hour interview.

 

What does worry him is the timing coming on top of Pos’ visit. It can’t be helped, though, especially as the firm was near the top of his list of hopeful potential employers.

 

The thought nags at him that he hopes Posner doesn’t do anything stupid while he’s out. However, not one for wallowing in misery, Stu cheers himself up by thinking that left to his own devices, perhaps Pos’ll be bored enough to get over himself and call Scripps.

 

Nevertheless, he rushes home as soon as he's finished in town, worry and guilt festering in his gut, feeling as if he’s left a small child alone in the flat. To his relief, Tom is already there and chatting away, seemingly not minding the total lack of an answer.

 

Stu pulls him into the hall to deliver his news.

 

“I got the internship. They want me to start straight away.”

 

Tom's face splits into a wide grin. “That’s excellent. What’s the matter? You look disappointed.”

 

“It couldn’t be a worse time.”

 

Still grinning, Tom just looks confused.

 

Stu sighs at his boyfriend's determined stupidity. “Posner’s here isn’t he? What am I going to do with him? I don’t like the thought of leaving him alone for ages”

 

“He’s not a dog”

 

“Funny.” Stuart drops his voice to a low whisper “what if he does something? What will I tell Scrippsy?”

 

“He is an adult, besides I’ll be here.”

 

“How come?”

 

“I’m working from home tomorrow”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Since today. I thought I’d keep David company.”

 

Stu frowns “David?”

 

“It is his name. I can’t go on calling him ‘Posner’, can I?”

 

“Why not?” Stu asks, knowing he sounds petulant and not quite being able to help it.

 

“It’s weird. I was his teacher.”

 

Stu folds his arms across his chest. “You don’t have a problem with Scripps”

 

Tom continues to smile patiently. “But you call him Scripps”

 

“I don’t call Posner ‘David’”

 

“Scripps has never introduced himself to me as anything else”

 

“Yeah, Well, if your name was Donald you wouldn’t want it getting about, either”

 

“True.” Tom chuckles. “Anyway, I’m at home for the rest of this week, it’s just research at this time of year and I thought - as David’s here”

 

The frown deepens. “What, they just let you have the week at home? Don’t they mind?”

 

“Not really.” Tom's cheerful smile doesn't waver “I took a ‘ _my boyfriend is fucking useless’_ week”

 

“But you didn’t know I’d get it. Are you having an affair with Pos?” He knows he’s being stupid but something about it rankles and he wants a reason to snap.

 

Tom doesn’t seem remotely offended, which is annoying. “No, you’re genuinely fucking useless”

 

“Fuck you, I am not.”

 

“Besides,’ Tom steps closer to rest his hands on Stu’s hips. “I knew you’d get it” He murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips.

 

The compliment makes Stu embarrassingly, obscenely, proud and melts away some of his tetchiness. By the time they break apart, he’s radiating his usual air of satisfaction.

 

He has taken two steps towards the living room before a thought strikes him and he whirls around “What do you mean 'useless', exactly?”

 

Tom’s face falls and he shakes his head, disappointed.

 

“You tried to cure his depression with a trip to the pub! and you keep pushing him about Scripps when it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it”

 

“Well, I don’t get it.” Stu hisses, folding his arms across his chest defensively. “They’re both miserable because they miss each other and they both refuse to do anything about it”

 

“It’s none of our business”

 

Stu’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “And we would have ended up together if Pos hadn’t stuck his nose into our business?”

 

He watches the cogs spinning in Tom’s head as he desperately tries to come up with a decent counter-argument. Stu can pinpoint the exact moment he wins from the look on Tom's face.

 

“Fine” He snaps at last, with a pointed finger aimed at Stu’s chest. “But stop pestering him. Give him some space”

 

Stu is so preoccupied with feeling smug he’s only half-listening but he gets the impression Tom would like some assurance so he nods.

 

“Sure, babe” He grins.

 

“And don’t call me ‘babe’”

 

“Yes, sir”

 

“Stuart” Tom warns.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

Tom shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “Behave”

 

Stu leans in close. “Make me” He murmurs conspiratorially.

 

“I’d lay you across my knee except you’d enjoy it”

 

“Anytime, babe. I love it when you get bossy” Stu winks

 

“Kinky little shit” Tom mutters as he walks away, looking pink.

 

It really is too easy sometimes.

 

*****

 

Stu emerges from the bathroom in the morning and makes his way straight into the kitchen in search of toast and coffee without bothering to stop by the bedroom to dress. It’s early and he doesn’t expect to find both Tom and Posner already there.

 

 

Tom, who has insisted from the very first time they slept together that he can’t stand more than a cup of coffee and a fag in the morning, is standing by the stove, poking at a pan of French toast.

 

Pausing to take stock of the situation, Stu tightens his towel around his waist before continuing to the pot of coffee waiting on the counter.

 

“Since when do you make breakfast?” He asks, giving Tom’s head a playful push on his way past

 

“'Morning' to you too” Tom smiles and delivers a quick peck to his cheek. “Since we have a guest”

 

“It’s only Pos.”

 

“Thanks a bunch” Posner squeaks from his seat at the table

 

“Yeah, well I don’t get breakfast”

 

“I’m sure you get plenty of other things, instead”

 

“Fat chance with you in the house – Oi!” He squawks as Tom narrowly misses him with a spatula.

 

“Sorry, I was aiming for the sink” Tom smiles at him innocently.

 

Posner is smirking into his tea though, which is the most cheerful Stu has seen him since he arrived, so maybe it was worth nearly getting brained.

 

“Why are you naked?” Posner asks, a hint of the sharp humour Dakin remembers so well creeping back into his voice.

 

“I’m not.” He shakes his towel as proof.

 

Half expecting to get an eyeful, David shields his eyes with a raised hand and turns his puzzled look on Tom who just shakes his head, smirking fondly into the pan and doing a bad job of not looking self-satisfied.

 

“I don’t want to get stuff down my suit, do I?” Stu says through a mouthful of toast, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

A strange jolt of self-loathing starts in his stomach as David notices a familiar mole on Dakin’s stomach and realises that he remembers Dakin's nude torso with near perfect accuracy. Suddenly embarrassed and vaguely ashamed, he looks away.

 

“You could just try to eat without slopping food all down yourself – most people manage that after the age of four or five” He’s staring at the teapot so he misses Dakin’s middle finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies. 
> 
> As always I love to hear your thoughts so let me know what you think (comments are to me what hairspray is to Dakin - there can never be too much XD) Xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Irwin gets a turn at ~~babysitting~~ entertaining and Dakin wants to show Scripps what a good friend he can be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to be posting roughly every 3 weeks but RL has done a big poo on my head and I am suuuuper busy rn so my apologies for the late post and it will more than likely happen again but I'm so happy to be finally posting another chapter of this :)

 

 

Dakin doesn’t often allow himself to get hung up on other people’s issues to the point where he lets it affect his own life, but on this occasion with Posner things are – well, they’re different. He feels as though he’s been entrusted to keep him safe – not only for Pos’s own sake but for Scripps, for whom Stu has new-found levels of respect if this is what he has to deal with on a daily basis.

 

Once dressed he puts his head around the kitchen door to check on them. Posner is eating, at least, which Stu chooses to take as a good sign, but gives his customary shrug when he asks where Tom has disappeared off to.

 

By a process of elimination, he finally finds Tom smoking outside the front door

 

“You sure you’re alright to spend the day with him? He’s sort of hard work”

 

Tom laughs softly. “Stu, I’m sure I’ll cope. Don’t worry about it, just focus on making an impression at work” He passes the ciggie across for Stu to take a drag

 

“All right, if you’re sure. He wouldn’t even open the blinds yesterday”

 

“I don’t mind”

 

Stu shrugs and passes the cigarette back. “Just – look after him, ok?”

 

He nods.

 

Tom being Tom, and them being in the street in full view of the bin men and the nosy old curtain-twitcher in the ground floor flat, a kiss is out of the question – this is completely fine by Stu, who is a grown up and will see him in less than eight hours anyway. Tom, however, seems to feel like he’s neglecting his boyfriendly duties, or something equally idiotic and does an aborted shuffle towards him before putting a hand awkwardly in his arm.

 

Eager to be done with the weirdness, Stu pats his pocket to check he has his keys and wallet and smiles cheerfully. “Ok, bye then”

 

Apparently, however, Tom isn’t done.

 

“I love you” he smiles by way of goodbye, doing that dopey adoring thing with his eyes that drives Stu absolutely wild during sex and makes him squirm with embarrassment in every other situation.

 

Personally, Stu would find a kiss in the street far less excruciating, but that’s Tom for you.

 

He manages a tight smile. “Yep. See you later.”

 

*****

 

 

Spending a whole day alone with Irwin is not something David had expected to have to deal with – he doubts he would have accepted Dakin’s invitation if it had been on the cards from the start.

 

Sitting alone in the kitchen of his old teacher’s flat he frantically runs through everything he knows about Irwin and tries to come up with ways he might possibly string any of it into small talk - the thought of the day ahead is giving him palpitations and David meets it with quiet dread.

 

Brash and clumsy though Dakin can be, without him conversation is initially as difficult as David had feared, but Irwin does at least make the effort not to leave any hanging silences. David can tell what he’s doing and appreciates it, but it does mean sitting through a lot of babble.

 

“Do you keep up with the others from school much?” Irwin asks him.

 

“Just Dakin and Adil. Well, and Scrippsy, of course.”

 

Tom frowns in confusion. “Adil?”

 

“Akthar”

 

“Oh, right, Adil. Sorry, I forgot.”

 

David isn’t surprised Irwin doesn’t remember his friend’s name in spite of spending every day for three months with him. Dakin was the only one of them he really had time for in those days.

 

Harshly, he bets Irwin didn’t need reminding of _his_ name.

 

Talking about it to a relative stranger, David is a bit embarrassed that the people he’s closest to in his early twenties are the same ones that he hung onto during his mid to late teens. It’s not as if he doesn’t have any other friends, just that there are precious few of them and he’d rather not lose them. He prefers to keep this side of himself – the withdrawn, moody side - on a strictly need to know basis. It’s not just pride: logically, the best way of keeping those new friends he has made is to present the fun, interesting and refreshingly outrageous David they were drawn to in the first place, even if that means losing touch because he can’t be that person. His old friends, he feels, have just got used to the person he really is with time.

 

“Do you think it’s weird?” He asks Irwin, glumly

 

Irwin blushes red and his eyes widen to the size of saucers. David’s confused for a second before he realises the misunderstanding.

 

“I mean us being such close friends still –“ He blurts, keen not to exacerbate the faux pas “– I know Dakin keeps up with everyone. You must think we’re very insular”

 

Irwin stammers and David imagines that inside his head he’s scrambling to appear normal and unflustered. He’s nearly certain that’s exactly what’s happening. It gives a flash of why Dakin finds Irwin so adorable - not that that sort of thing appeals to him but it’s right up Dakin’s street. David can just picture him luxuriating in the power of sending Irwin into a tizzy at will.

 

Taking pity on him, David continues: “I think once you’ve been through something like that term you’re bound together so tightly by the pressure that it lingers”

 

Irwin mumbles something about being jealous of having a ready made group of close friends and then says that he’s being a bad host and practically flees to the kitchen to make tea.

 

 

*****

 

 

Dakin’s morning is, in a word, fucking boring. He thinks Hector would be proud of the gerund, and if proof were needed of how dismal the day is, thinking about shit like that would qualify.

 

The job is easy enough – they put him on filing, photocopying and making tea: while it grates a little, he’s been told to expect something like this, so it doesn’t come as a shock.

 

His mind drifts to his friends and he lets it: he may as well be doing something semi productive with his time. He decides that he’s going to have to tackle the problem from the other side now that Posner is _in situ_. Dakin would really rather not upset him - the idea of making him any worse genuinely frightens him. Besides, Tom’s warning of the evening before is still ringing in his ears.

 

Scripps, on the other hand, is a much easier target. While strong-willed in his own way he has always gone along with whatever Stu says, and is a downright pushover when it comes to Posner.

 

Guilt, Dakin decides is probably his best angle of attack. He decides to be direct, purely because his patience is wearing thin after two days of babysitting. In any case, if Scripps had any objections to him being direct then their friendship would hardly have lasted since childhood.

 

He calls Scripps’ office at lunch and arranges to meet after work on the pretence of celebrating his new internship with a drink.

 

 

*****

 

 

“ _Yep?”_ David squawks from his position cross-legged on the floor _“YEP?_ ”

 

“Yep” Tom sighs, flicking over the page of his handwritten VHS catalogue.

 

“Fucking arsehole”

 

Tom shakes his head “He’s not so bad, really”

 

“But I mean… ‘ _yep?’_ ”

 

"I know he _does_. You’d be surprised how good he is at showing it – Not like that!” He laughs, shaking his head at David’s undisguised look of distaste. “Although - ”

 

“Please no”

 

Tom clears his throat “He just … doesn’t say it a lot”

 

“and that doesn’t bother you?”

 

Tom shifts uncomfortably in his seat

 

“Come on, you can trust me, You were the first person I officially came out to, after all. Except for Scrippsy, and, well, Dakin counts, I suppose.”

 

“Declaring love for someone does rather give the game away” Tom smirks.

 

“Unless you’re Dakin, apparently”

 

Tom sighs through his nose and gives his glasses a nudge. “It doesn’t _not_ bother me but … overall I’m happy.” He returns his attention to his notes “What about _The Magnificent Ambersons_?”

 

“I’ve seen it. Ordered it from the library last month”

 

Undaunted, Tom flicks forward a few pages.

 

“The Long Hot Summer?”

 

“No, it never appealed”

 

“Aha!” Tom unfolds his long legs from under him and makes his way to the meticulously ordered, numbered and catalogued film collection. Apparently just writing on the boxes is unacceptable for some reason that David doesn’t understand, particularly as they’re hidden in a cupboard.

 

“Dakin hasn’t messed up your system yet then”

 

From what David had seen, Dakin’s room at Oxford had always been organised on a system of teetering piles of those things he needed most urgently, with the rest of his possessions stacked haphazardly onto shelves and jammed into drawers to give an outward semblance of tidiness.

 

“No, but he’s got in about five years worth of piss taking since he moved in” Tom grins, scanning the rows of neatly numbered tapes.

 

“I thought he hadn’t moved in yet?”

 

Tom gives a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s a process” He mumbles before returning his attention to the shelves.

 

“Here we are!” He plucks a tape out with a cheeky grin “Paul Newman. Yum Yum.”

 

“Oooookay”

 

Tom coughs “What? He’s hot” He mutters, “That’s just a fact”

 

David has to concede defeat, even if he isn’t really comfortable discussing it with his ex-teacher yet, especially given their once mutual feelings for Dakin.

 

 

 

 

“So the ‘babe’ thing…” David quizzes when Tom gets up to change the tape over

 

Tom groans. “Atrocious isn’t it? I can’t make him stop”

 

“I think it’s sweet – for Dakin. I mean, it’s a **bit** odd” He adds, quailing a little under Tom’s glare.

 

“It’s a habit he picked up from his ex”

 

“Oh… Still”

 

“Girlfriend”

 

A small involuntary chuckle forces its way past David’s lips.

 

“I say a habit, it started that way. Now he knows how much it annoys me he does it on purpose”

 

“If you stopped getting annoyed he’d stop doing it”

 

Tom pulls a face that David interprets as not wanting to have sense talked at him. He reckons it means that Tom probably loves it, really.

 

 

*****

 

 

Dakin meets Scripps at a pub he’s never been in before that’s halfway between their workplaces. It’s a large Victorian affair with subway tiling and hanging baskets full of colourful flowers outside. It's ram packed inside and it takes him ten minutes to get served at the bar and locate Scripps, who has, typically, chosen a table right at the back.

 

He starts in straight after their toast to his new employment

 

“Why won’t you talk to Pos?”

 

Scripps pauses, his pint midway to his mouth. “Excuse me?”

 

“Posner, you know, our friend, your boyfriend, the one you’ve been secretly in love with since we were about fifteen"

 

“I know him. I do talk to him, I write every week”

 

“You _write_? what is this, a Victorian novel?”

 

“The phone is sometimes tricky”

 

“Because of his mum?”                       

 

“No”

 

“You mean because of him being…”

 

“Stuart” Scripps warns sharply

 

“What?! It’s a legitimate question”

 

He lets Scripps sip quietly undisturbed for a few seconds.

 

“Would you like to talk to him?”

 

“Yeeeees”

 

“There’s no need to take that tone. I’m trying to help.”

 

“Yes, that’s what I’m worried about”

 

“Charming. What if I told you you can come and speak to him now if you like?”

 

Scripps stares at him, his face blank.

 

“What have you done?”

 

“He’s staying with me, I mean, us… at Tom’s. He came down last week”

 

“Dakin” Scripps says at length. “You’re a dick” He pushes his chair out and leaves without another word.

 

By the time Dakin forces his way through the crowd, Scripps has disappeared down the street.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations are had and Dakin draws some conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long one this time (!) but there'll probably be several weeks before the next bit is up, owing to a combination of real life and my not having written it yet.
> 
> As always, comments make my day, my week, my etc (that is if anyone is still reading this tome)

 

 

“Can it be a sexless marriage?” Tom is asking when Stu walks through the door, miserable and longing for a cold shower after the sweaty tube ride home.

 

“Nope” Posner grins “You have to go down and dirty”

 

Tom pulls one of the cushions off the sofa and uses it to cover his face. It looks like he’s trying to smother himself.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Shag, marry, kill. It’s Tom’s go: Hitler, Stalin, Mrs Thatcher” Pos explains with glee

 

“I don’t see the problem there”

 

“That’s why nobody is asking you” Pos smiles, like the old Posner – the _real Posner_ that Stu remembers.

 

“We need milk” Tom throws over his shoulder, in a dramatic change from the awkward clinginess of the morning. Stu can’t say he prefers it.

 

At least Posner is finally cracking a smile, even if it’s not of Stuart’s direct doing – although he doesn’t let himself feel disappointed for long – Tom is his boyfriend after all and that’s largely down to Stu, so it’s his achievement by default.

 

When he returns from the corner shop, Pos has vanished.

 

“How was your day?” He asks, flopping down beside Tom.

 

“Not bad, we watched some films, relaxed”

 

“Alright for some” He winces as he toes off too tight leather shoes  ”Anything good?”

 

“We watched two Orson Welles ones - David’s choice, and then I persuaded him to give _Jules et Jim_ a try”

 

“What?” Stu’s head snaps up “What did you show him that for?”

 

“I thought he’d like it” Tom shrugs, apparently genuine.

 

“It’s hardly appropriate, is it? What if he gets ideas?” Stu hisses, not impressed by Tom’s idea of looking after his depressed charge.

 

Tom blinks at him. “You think he’s going to drive off a cliff?”

 

“You’re being facetious” He sighs, annoyed “what’s with the film thing?”

 

“He says a friend told him to be always in the middle of something – I think it’s a good tip”

 

“I think it’s morbid” Stu sulks, crossing his arms.

 

“You don’t get it, you’ve never been depressed”

 

“I get down just like everyone else, I just don’t wallow in it”

 

Tom purses his lips in clear irritation “Try to be a little more sensitive”

 

“You’re the one showing him depressing French films. Where’s is he, anyway?”

 

“In the bath”

 

“The bath - Are you mad? You know he’s a fan of Virginia Woolfe – he’s read _To The Lighthouse_ six times!”

 

“Stuart, if your friend chooses to drown himself in our bath it would be very tragic but I can hardly interrogate him on his intentions before he gets in”

 

The assumed co-ownership of the bath nearly derails him but he covers it by standing and shrugging off his suit jacket and tie

 

“Why did you let him get in in the first place?”

 

Tom has the effrontery to look puzzled by the question. “…Because he said he wanted a bath”

 

“So you just said ok?”

 

“It’s the first glimmer of interest in self-care that I’ve seen him show. Anyway, he’s a guest, not a prisoner. What do you want me to do, insist on supervising?” Tom chuckles at his ‘hilarious’ joke.

 

Stu suspects he’s refusing to be wound up on purpose and it makes him feel childish and even more irritable.

 

“Har fucking har. I just hope he’s ok”

 

“You’re in some mood. Bad day?”

 

“You might say that” Stu huffs.

 

Tom moves behind him and starts rubbing soothing hands across his shoulders. “Everyone starts out as a lackey. It’s just to see if you’re really committed. They’ll move you up the ladder in no time”

 

“No, it’s not that” Stu moans, leaning back into the impromptu massage. “I mean, that is shit but no, it’s Scripps”

 

“Ah. Plan run into difficulties?”

 

“I don’t know what I could have done differently”

 

“Mind your own business?”

 

“I’m serious” Stu snaps.

 

“So am I” Tom stops what he’s doing and circles around to face him.

 

He leans back against his kitchen table like it’s his teacher’s desk, looking at Stu the same way he used to look down on them all back in the classroom, with an air of infuriating arrogance and disappointment.

 

“Stuart, you can’t just swoop in and expect to be able to change people’s lives in a few weeks”

 

“Don’t be daft, of course I can, I’ve done it before, loads of times”

 

Tom shakes his head and smirks humourlessly. “Persuading someone to make a move when you’re ninety-eight per cent sure the other person fancies them anyway isn’t the same as untangling peoples deep-seated problems. Nobody can sort it but them” He says, sadly.

 

“But they won't try!”

 

“Stu, I know you mean well, but your friends need some space”

 

“Space, for fuck's sake, what’s that going to do? They’ve got a hundred and eighty miles of space between them already!”

 

“Meddling isn’t faring any better from where I’m standing” He frowns.

 

And shit but Tom must be serious because he’s pulling the full-on teacher act. If it weren’t so frustrating it’d be incredibly sexy.

 

“How can I just do nothing?”

 

“Because you fucking have to”

 

Tom’s got him on the ropes, Stuart can feel it, so he tries another angle of attack, one where Tom will feel less secure and, hopefully, less fucking superior.

 

“You ever had relationship problems?”

 

A nervous laugh escapes Tom’s lips. “Obviously. I’m not with them anymore”

 

“I mean real problems, not just one of you getting bored”

 

Tom’s face turns soft and sincere “Yes”

 

Stu’s touched a nerve he can feel it.

 

“And?”

 

“We broke up” Tom shrugs “Sometimes it happens, and there’s nothing you can do”

 

“But they’re not a breaking up sort of couple”

 

“Why do you care so much?”

 

Stu tries to marshal his thoughts on exactly why Pos and Scripps are perfect for each other in each and every way without sounding like a total sap but the noise of Pos unlocking the bathroom door indicates his time is up.

 

Tom eases seamlessly into chatter about Bonnie Prince Charlie and Stuart is reminded of how accomplished a liar he really is. Together with the stern teacher performance, it’s a massive turn on.

 

 

*****

 

 

Tom refuses to talk any more about it after they go to bed and, between the worried thoughts playing on a loop in his brain and the moratorium on sex, sleep seems impossible for Stu.

 

He gives it up around two o’clock and goes for a glass of milk. Light is spilling out from under the door of the main room and he finds Posner wide-awake on the sofa, reading.

 

“Can’t sleep?”

 

Pos jumps and hastily puts the book away. It looks like a diary. “No. You?”

 

Dakin shrugs and collapses onto the sofa beside him, resisting the desperate urge to pry.

 

“D’you ever think about Hector?”

 

“No” Stu responds without thinking.

 

“I miss him sometimes”

 

“Pos, he was a sad useless creep”

 

“I sometimes feel like I’ll end up like him”

 

“Touching up kids?”

 

“No. Lonely. Unfulfilled”

 

“Spouting compound adjectives” Stu tuts.

 

“I mean it” Posner’s voice rises into a squeak like it does when he’s really cross.

 

“Pos, there’s no such thing as destiny. You choose your own luck. If you want to mope your life away fixating on pathetic old blokes then that’s what you’ll end up. If you decide to make a go of things and choose the best life for you then chances are things will turn out alright in the end”

 

“Do you really never think about him at all?”

 

“Why is that so amazing? It’s been years” He’s not sure why, but this fixation of Posner’s on their old teacher angers him. He vaguely recalls that it used to in school as well.

 

“He was one of the major influences of my life,” Pos says sadly, his eyes downcast.

 

“Not of mine, fortunately”

 

“No, you shacked up with yours. He resisted you, I expect that’s the secret”

 

“There’s more to it than that. He stopped resisting a while back in case you hadn’t noticed.” Stu attempts a leer although his heart isn’t in it.

 

The effort is wasted on Posner, who’s picking his fingernails, anyway.

 

“Hector and I both tried to have sex with you, and get consigned to the scrap heap”

 

“Pos, he pawed at my balls a couple of times. That can’t be classed by any stretch of the imagination as sex, or do I need to have a serious word with Scripps? I know you’re his first and everything”

 

Posner levels him with a glare “Thanks for your concern, but, unlike some people who’ll remain nameless, I actually have a basis for comparison” He spares a pointed look at Stu.

 

“You do know that technically, I’ve slept with more blokes than Tom has?”

 

“What does ‘technically’ mean? They brushed past you in the dark?”

 

Unfazed, Stu shrugs. “Some people might not class it as sex if it isn’t up the arse. Tom was a bit of a revolution for me in that department”

 

“Fuck, Dakin, I don’t need to know!”

 

“Well, you asked”

 

“You really ought to learn where to draw the line between chummy gossip and gory detail”

 

Stu holds up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Calm down, Mary Whitehouse! Go on then, what do you think? Does it count?” An evil glint comes into his eye “How do you and Scripps do it?”

 

“The line is being drawn!”

 

“Prude. You're as bad as that boyfriend of yours” He sulks. “I think it counts, and on top of that I’ve been with more girls than the three of you put together”

 

“We’re all very impressed at that astonishing achievement, I’m sure. Keeping score like this doesn’t smack of insecurity at all” Pos gets up and goes to fetch a drink.

 

“I’m glad I am on the scrap heap, frankly, if the alternative is being a ‘technicality’ to soothe your ego” he throws back at Stu

 

“I’m very sexually secure. Anyway, what scrap heap?” Stu interrogates as Pos wanders back to his makeshift bed on the couch.

 

“I invited you here, didn’t I? We’re here in the living room having this cosy little late night chat”

 

He squints at Pos, scanning his impassive face for clues. “You’re not still upset about having a crush on me, are you?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous” Pos snaps, sharper than he’d meant to. He goes quiet for a bit, picking at his blanket while he chooses his next words.

 

“The part of this that I was dreading: staying with my ex-teacher has been the best bit. I thought it would be painfully awkward. He’s actually been really nice”

 

“Why shouldn’t he be? He is nice.”

 

“Just didn’t expect it, that’s all” Posner shrugs, still not meeting his eye. “I didn’t get the best impression at school”

 

“That was ages ago. O.K. you haven’t seen him much since but surely Scrippy’s told you he’s alright”

 

“Dakin, Scripps hates him”

 

“What?" Stu scoffs. "No, he doesn’t”

 

David nods.

 

“Why?”

 

“He says he’s superior and morally bankrupt”

 

“Ouch. That’s made things awkward”

 

“Welcome to my life – maybe you know what it feels like now”

 

“Have I done something wrong? Tell me if I have because I’m seriously not getting it”

 

Pos levels him with a glare. “You said you missed me and you’ve been avoiding me”

 

“I haven’t!”

 

“Pardon me, you’ve been finding excuses to be out all the time after inviting me down under false pretences. Silly of me to think it’s all about me again”

 

Dakin sighs “It wasn’t false pretences, honestly. I do consider you a mate and I hate that you’re all…” He gestures vaguely.

 

“Thanks, although that doesn’t explain why you’re so desperate not to spend any time with me”

 

“That’s not true, I invited you to do loads of stuff!”

 

“Dakin, I don’t want to **do** anything, I just want to hang out with a friend”

 

“Fine, we can do that. Where do you want to hang out?”

 

“What’s wrong with just sitting here?”

 

“It’s boring”

 

“Sorry. I’m just not in the mood for anything else”

 

“Oh” Stu decides he probably ought to humour him and tries to think of something that’ll sound supportive and encouraging. He doesn't have much luck.

 

“OK…What have you been doing with Tom?”

 

Posner shrugs. “We sit and chat or else just read separately”

 

“Sounds like a right barrel of laughs. Chat about anything interesting?”

 

“We don’t talk about you much if that’s what you’re asking. I get the impression Tom’s a bit embarrassed about it, at least towards me”

 

“He’s shy,” Dakin says, sagely

 

“I’ve been watching a lot of classic films recently”

 

Stu grunts to convey he knows as much already.

 

“Tom has a lot of good ones, and he’s been getting me into French ones, so we’ve watched a few of those. I normally only watch ones black and white but Tom persuaded me to give _Jules et Jim_ a try.”

 

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve spoken to him about that”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s depressing, isn’t it?”

 

“Not how it works” Pos smirks “but thanks. He was insistent that I was overlooking French cinema. Said I’d love the Nouvelle Vague – it seemed rude to argue and he turned out to be right, so I’ve got some new stuff to look up when I go home. That’s it really”

 

So, to take the biscuit, Tom’s been doing a much better job than him. Stu sighs deeply and rubs his tired eyes.

 

“I don’t want to make you worse” He confesses.

 

Posner reaches out and pats his hand in a silent gesture of thanks.

 

“It’s ok. You can’t. Sorry I said what I said about Scripps and Tom”

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure they both still love me very much”

 

Pos manages a weak chuckle. “Tell me about your life?”

 

“I’m sorry this internship came up while you’re here, it’s shit timing, but I really need the job. It’s not me avoiding you though, honestly.”

 

“I didn’t think that, not really. I just – get a bit paranoid sometimes. What’s the hurry?”

 

“I need to find a job if I want to keep a roof over my head”

 

“I thought you were moving in here?”

  
  
“That’s the plan, I just need money for the rent – I mean we’ve talked about it and I’m staying here at the moment so it’s sort of unofficial but it’s not me – just squatting in someone’s house – I hate it”

 

“I don’t know him that well but I’m sure Tom doesn’t mind subbing you for a few weeks”

 

“I’m sure he doesn’t, but I can’t sponge off him”

 

Posner gives a deep sigh. “I know that feeling. Can’t you stay where you are until you find something?”

 

Stu shakes his head “It’s a student flat. The lease is up and so is my grant. I’ve already moved out.”

 

“What’s wrong with going home for a while, just until you find something?”

 

Stu looks at him like he’s grown a second head, he might as well have done. “You are joking?”

 

“No” Posner frowns.

 

“No thanks. I’d rather die”

 

“Fine” Posner rolls his eyes and lapses into silence.

 

“Why won’t you talk to Scripps?” Stu blurts. He doesn’t mean to bring it up, but it’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Why won’t you talk to Scripps? Why won’t he talk to you? What’s going on with you two anyway?”

 

“Why won’t you tell Tom you love him?”

 

Stu blinks “I’m sorry?”

 

“I thought we were asking awkward questions. Tom was saying you won’t tell him”

 

“I have told him!”

 

“What do you mean ‘you have’? It’s not something you tick off a list, Dakin.”

 

“I told him when I first… felt it” He shifts uncomfortably “and a couple of times since when I was feeling soppy. I thought it was important enough that he was unlikely to forget”

 

Posner’s mouth falls open.

 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” He says, angrily. Stu is strongly reminded of being told off by his mum, back when he was a horrible, stroppy teenager.

 

“I didn’t realise it had an expiration date on it”

 

“I’m so glad things never worked out between us”

 

“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway”

 

“You can say that again” Posner folds his arms and looks out of the dark window

 

“Sorry, let me get this straight. You’re angry at me because of my hypothetical actions in an old fantasy of yours about something that never actually happened between us?”

 

Still frowning, Pos shakes his head. “I’m not angry, Dakin”

 

Confused, Stu reckons as he’s come this far he ought not to let the opportunity slide by. “Go on then, quid pro quo and all that, why won’t you talk to Scripps?”

 

Posner sighs still staring out of the window. “I’m not a good boyfriend right now. You can see yourself, I’m no good to be around….”

 

“You’re not so bad, we’re having a laugh” Stu lies, giving his arm a gentle shove.

 

“You don’t know about it, Dakin. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Maybe, but I do know Scripps, he won’t mind all that.”

 

Posner shakes his head, sadly.

 

“Is this all because you had a fight?”

 

“Who says we did?”

 

“Scripps said, weeks back, about your mum was it?”

 

Posner flushes in embarrassment and rage. “We didn’t have **_a_** fight. We do nothing but fight. I’m sick of it and I always seem to start them”

 

“At least there’s make up sex”

 

“Bit difficult from the other side of the country”

 

“So move”

 

“Dakin, don’t go there.” Posner's voice cracks.

 

"Don't" He grits out as Stu tries to comfort him by patting his shoulder - it's a relief actually because Stu didn't have a clue where to go from there.

 

He heads over to the kitchen and tears off a sheet of kitchen roll, which Pos accepts with a sniffled 'thanks'.

 

Feeling like he's come too far to let it lie, Stu continues, guiltily. “Look, the worst thing you can do to him is shut him out. He’d jump off a building for you if you asked him”

 

“Exactly!” Pos whips round to look at him. “Can’t you imagine how terrifying that is? I want a boyfriend, not a carer. What if I get so wrapped up in myself that I drag him down with me? It’s not fair on him to give him all my crap!”

 

“This isn’t fair on him, you pillock” Dakin chides, softly. “Just think about it, alright? I swear I know Scrippsy backwards and **I know** I’m right about this”

 

Pos sniffles again and gives him a weak smile.

 

 

*****

 

“I was thinking about teaching, back at Oxford,” Posner says, drowsily, a mug of chocolate balanced precariously on his chest. They’re watching an old Open University episode, turned down low so as not to wake Tom (all the other channels having long since finished for the night).

 

“Talk to Tom about it” Stu mumbles through a yawn, as he detachedly watches the sign language interpreter in the corner of the screen, noticing the way some of the gestures make her breasts bounce.

 

Posner gives a vague hum, Stu doubts that he will.

 

“Is that why you’re thinking about Hector?”

 

“I s’pose”

 

“Well forget it, fuck him,” He says viciously, returning his attention to the cleavage on screen

 

“Does it bother you, being tied down?” Posner sounds suddenly wide awake. “I mean, do you miss doing it with girls?” He asks, as if reading Stuart’s mind.

 

Stu shifts position on the sofa, trying to wake his brain up enough to give a coherent and non-incriminating answer

 

“Not ‘miss’ exactly”

 

“But you think about girls?”

 

Stu yawns “I think about girls, I think about blokes. I’m interested in both and I like to think I have a healthy fantasy life”

 

“And it doesn’t- bother you? It doesn’t bother Tom?”

 

“Why should it bother me?”

 

Stu is sure Posner’s dancing around something deeper but he’s too sleepy to concentrate.

 

He tries to get a proper look at Posner but he’s facing away from Stuart.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, only wondering.” He answers vaguely.

 

Stu settles back into his seat with a frown “As for Tom you’ll have to ask him yourself”

 

 

*****

 

 

“You look like shit” Tom greets him with a cup of tea in bed.

 

The bastard has opened not only the curtains but the window as well and the birds are so loud it feels like they’re singing from inside his skull.

 

“Thanks” Stu croaks, as he attempts to sit up. “I only got to sleep an hour ago. I think there might be someone else”

 

“What?” The colour drains from Tom’s face.

 

“Pos and Scripps, you stupid git” Stu mumbles, rubbing his eyes Thinking it through, perhaps he should have explained himself better. “I was up til five talking about it with him”

 

Tom sinks down to sit on the bed beside him.

 

“Oh,” He sighs in palpable relief, “David said that?”

 

“No, but - ”

 

“Scripps did?” He says, his eyes widening with shock

 

“No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

 

“No. What the fuck are you on about?”

 

“Think about it, they aren’t speaking, they’re not saying it but it doesn’t take a genius to figure they’ve fallen out. Neither of them wants to see each other ** _and_** Pos was talking to me about fidelity last night – asking about whether I’m finding monogamy a strain”

 

Tom’s jaw tightens ever so slightly.

 

“And what did you say?” He asks in a would be casual tone.

 

Stu’s eyes narrow in a glare over the top of his mug. “Oh grow up, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t want to”

 

“You’ll have to excuse me, you greeted me with the phrase ‘there’s someone else’” Tom snarks at him.

 

“I was asleep”

 

“Arsehole” Tom pokes him in the side, thankfully seeing the funny side already.

 

Stu squirms away from the tickling, accidentally slopping tea on the duvet.

 

“Moron”

 

He grabs a tissue off the bedside table and tries to mop it up and Tom leans in to kiss him softly.

 

“Sorry” Stu smiles, “But you have to admit it fits – unless you can think of another explanation I’ve overlooked?” He wheedles, looking to appeal to Tom’s love of a puzzle.

 

Surprisingly, it works. Tom cocks his head, thinking quietly for a moment while he bites his lip. “Who do you think…?”

 

“I dunno. I can’t see it being Scripps – he’s always had a thing for Posner, but on the other hand, if you look up loyal in the dictionary Pos’s picture’ll be there. It’s weird, but then he’s not right, is he? Not… himself. It would explain everything – he’s too ashamed to face Scripps and Scrippsy’s angry and needs his space”

 

Realising he’s being played, Tom shakes his head as if to clear it. “You ought to write soap operas. And I don’t care, it’s none of my business”

 

“Who are you kidding with this high and mighty act?”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“All you think about is history and what’s that but speculating and poking into other people’s affairs? Just because they’re dead that doesn’t make it any less nosy.”

 

He doesn’t expect Tom to have an argument to that, he’s thought it out in advance and he’s so proud of it, he expects stuttering at the very least, but it’s rare that Tom can’t outmanoeuvre him in an argument. Ordinarily, if asked, Stu would say it’s one of the things he loves about Tom, but lately, it’s downright irritating.

 

“Nosy, maybe, but harmless. As you say, they’re dead, so I can’t destroy their lives. I mean it, Stu, this isn’t a bit of fun. Someone is going to get hurt here. You keep saying how worried you are about David but you’re treating their relationship like a game. This … snooping isn’t going to come to any good.”

 

“I’m not playing a game!” Stu rants, throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. “Pos wants to kill himself and Scripps won’t even see him! Something’s very wrong there – it’s like he’s been replaced by a pod person. He must have a good reason”

 

“I’m sure he does, but it’s his business”

 

“You keep saying that, but since when has observing the niceties been so important to you?” He storms off towards the shower.

 

“It’s not a question of niceties, you’re being unfair” Tom follows him into the bathroom and leans back against the closed door.

 

“I’m trying to help them!”

 

“I know. They know. But stop, please.” Tom takes a deep breath and changes the subject. “I have to go up to Scotland next week for a few days, the producer wants to get some preliminary stuff for the new series”

 

“Right. Am I alright to stay here?”

 

“Of course. I thought we were agreed on that”

 

Stu stares at the soapy water disappearing down the drain. “There won’t be any rent money”

 

“Oh, right” Tom’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “well, in that case, I think there’s a cardboard box somewhere you can stay in, I _was_ going to put it out for the dustmen... Idiot. When you’re a hotshot lawyer you can pay me back”

 

Stu rolls his eyes. “I will”

 

“Alright, I’ll do you up a bill” Tom teases, holding out a towel as Stu turns off the water.

 

“I will”

 

“I know you will, but I don’t mind”

 

“I feel like a scab”

 

“You can make it up to me, if you like” Tom smiles, his voice dropping low and husky as he smoothes his hands up Stu’s damp biceps “Once we have the place to ourselves again I’m all yours to apologise to however you want”

 

"Prick tease"

 

"You love it"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the length of this but I wanted to split up this section and the next (in which stuff actually happens, I promise -Plot is on the horizon)
> 
> Where I would normally hack a lot of stuff back before posting, this whole fic is barely edited at all. I have two reasons for this: 1) I am enjoying writing it immensely and I don't feel like snipping at it and 2) I wanted to take some time to explore living with depression while not actually being the person experiencing it - it's not something I have first-hand experience of, but my friends and family do and I want to explore what it must be like.
> 
> Basically what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry if this has disappeared upits own arse a bit, and I hope it isn't boring to read, cos it's fun to write but yeah, stuff will be happening in the next bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dakin manages to piss off Scripps even further (and in which I, as ever, am far meaner to Scripps than the poor darling deserves)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much to all of you lovelies who are still reading this stonking monster. RL still sucks, but in good news, apparently stress makes me write A LOT so maybe this will be coming along faster than I thought.
> 
> As ever comments are love <3 please drop me some love below if you enjoy it and it'll make my sad little day :)

 

 

Bitter disappointment hangs heavily over Dakin on Saturday as he accompanies Posner to St Pancras.

 

Other than a very slight (but admittedly noticeable) lift in spirits, no progress has been made with Posner at all, so far as Stuart can see. Since their late night chat Pos has offered no further information on Scripps or on whatever it is that has them locked in their pointless cold war. Stu feels like he’s failed, utterly. It’s something he’s only experienced a handful of times in his life and he hates it. He wonders how anyone can bear not to be good at everything.

 

“I like London” Pos remarks as they make their way through the streets, the sunlight picking out the detail on the smoke blackened Victorian facades of the grander buildings.

 

Stu is jolted out of his self-pity. “You ought to come more often” He tries “You can stay on longer if you like, we don’t mind”

 

“Thanks but… work” He shrugs.

 

Stu can’t tell if it’s an excuse or not.

 

Pos’ face twists into a mockery of his old cheeky smile. “Going to be lonely without him?”

 

“Shut up, dickhead”

 

Stu shoves his hands into his pockets and scowls for the rest of the walk, to make it crystal clear he’s not up for being teased any further about being sad and domestic.

 

The hall below the platforms is vast and vaulted and Posner gawps like a country mouse from the magnificent crumbling façade of the old Midland Grand Hotel until they reach the trains. There’s a piano in the station itself, and as they pass it Stu notices a wistful glance from Posner, but they pass by too fast for him to work it into the conversation and he leads the way up to the platform in silence.

 

There’s a moment of weirdness at the barriers when Pos turns to face him and stands staring up at him. It must look to passers-by like they’re about to kiss. Stu rocks back on his heels to try and put a modicum of distance between them.

 

“Look, seriously, yeah, any time, you’re welcome to stay.” He smiles sadly, in a private admission of defeat.

 

“Thanks, I had a nice time. Thank Tom especially for having me.”

 

Stu folds his arms in annoyance. “Right, not like I did anything”

 

“I thought you were insisting that it’s his house”

 

Pos cocks his head on one side like a little bird. It’s oddly familiar in its coquettishness and Stu realises he hasn’t seen much of the gesture since Pos transferred his attentions to their best mate. It serves as another reminder of his failure.

 

“If you’re trying to make a point, I’ve missed it. Get on your train”

 

“Just” Posner pauses long enough that Stu wonders if he’s finished. “appreciate what you’ve got, don’t cock it up”

 

“Wisdom noted.” He nods “ See you soon”

 

Posner waves goodbye and makes his way slowly through the barrier, his knitted jumper hanging loosely off his thin shoulders. Stu can’t understand why he’s even wearing the thing in June. Mind, Posner probably hasn’t noticed the weather; other than the disastrous pub trip on the first day of his visit Stu failed to persuade him to leave the house, despite his best efforts, and Tom indulged him, allowing him to sit inside with the curtains drawn all day.

 

With Posner safely back on the train and out of his hair, Stu suddenly finds himself with nothing to work towards for the first time in months. He makes the solitary journey home feeling directionless, and not relishing the prospect of a week by himself. Idly, he contemplates beginning ‘operation: make it up with Scripps’, but he’s still stinging from his inability to patch things up for him and Pos and he’s not in the mood to pick at the scab.

 

Still, he prides himself on being someone who doesn’t wallow in his own misfortune, and he soon finds that staying in the flat alone has its advantages. He spends what starts out as a boring evening making space in the wardrobe for his new work suits, and ends up stumbling (with only minimal snooping) across Tom’s stash of porn. He’s relieved – he was beginning to think Tom wasn’t quite human.

 

It’s different to his own – he’s never gone in for gay pin-up mags - considering his hetero porn collection contains enough of both sexes to entertain him, he’s never felt the need – but he’s pleasantly surprised with what he finds. In addition to the handful of grubby magazines, there are two other items of interest. The first is a well-buried and ambiguously labelled VHS tape. He sticks it on and finds it good enough to waste an evening to. The second is pure blackmailer’s heaven.

 

He doesn’t mention it when Tom phones to tell him he’s arrived safely, much better to maximise the embarrassment factor by dropping it into conversation at some point in the future when he’s least expecting it. The weather’s miserable in Scotland apparently, which makes him laugh, too.

 

The first hint of anything amiss comes on Wednesday when Dakin returns from work to a message on the machine from Mrs Posner, whom he hasn’t actually spoken to in about five years – David must have given her the number. She only asks him to call her back when he gets it.

 

It’s one of Posner’s hang-ups, he imagines – didn’t Scripps mention something along those lines? Stu is sure he did.

 

Chuckling, he pictures Pos getting his mum to call Scripps for him as well, as he pops his dinner into the microwave – it’s not that he relies on Tom to cook for him, or that he doesn’t do his share, just that he doesn’t see the point when it’s just him. It’s one of the times when he misses having Scripps around the place.

 

Thinking about Scripps, he figures he ought to call him and grovel a bit …after he calls Posner back… after dinner.

 

Lulled by the warm summer breeze floating through the open window, Stu accidentally falls asleep on the couch after dinner. By the time a wailing siren wakes him, it’s dark outside. He glances at the clock – it’s late. He almost goes straight to bed, but the flashing light of the machine catches his eye as he turns out the lights. Hoping that Tom might have called while he was asleep, he presses the button for messages again

 

Mrs Posner’s message is the only one. He’d forgotten all about Pos. He double checks his watch and almost decides to leave it for now, not wanting to disturb anyone. On the other hand, he’ll probably have forgotten by the time he gets home tomorrow, and he knows Posner doesn’t sleep well so he probably won’t be disturbing him.

 

It’s Mrs Posner who answers. He’s surprised she’s still up.

 

“Hello, Stuart,” her husky smoker’s voice is edged with worry. “I was wondering if David will be coming back this week, only I think he forgot to inform work that he was staying on”

 

“Right.” He says, thinking quickly. “Yeah, he must’ve forgotten. I’ll tell him you called”

 

 

*****

 

 

Scripps’s place is miles away. It takes him a tube ride and ten minutes of cycling to finally get there, out of breath and drenched with sweat.

 

Half expecting a punch on the nose and feeling like there’s a stone lodged in his churning stomach, he rings the buzzer for Scripps’s flat.

 

Scripps lets him in without comment but makes it clear that he’s still not Dakin’s biggest fan by turning his back and heading back inside with a muttered ‘what do you want, Dakin?’

 

Stu follows him to the sitting room where Scripps is standing in the middle of the room, still not meeting his eye. He’s wearing striped pyjama bottoms and bare feet and for some reason, it gives Stu a pang of sympathetic agony for what he’s about to inflict upon him.

 

“Posner’s missing” He pants. In the kitchen, Scripps’ two housemates bust into raucous laughter about something.

 

“What do you mean missing?”

 

“Missing as in missing, as in undetected, not arrived home and not here anymore” He snaps, irritated at his friend's stupidity.

 

Scripps just stares at him for long seconds. Still gasping for breath, Stu can hear his own heart pounding.

 

“Tell me exactly what you’re talking about” Scripps sounds calm, but his eyes betray his panic.

 

Dropping onto the sofa, uninvited, Stu gasps. “He was here at ours, I mean Tom’s for the week, he went home on Saturday and his mum just called to say he never arrived”

 

Scripps sinks into a chair.

 

“He definitely meant to go home? he wasn’t, I dunno, staying with someone else in London for a bit?”

 

“No, he mentioned work, I took him to the station myself”

 

“What and you just left him??”

 

Stu glares through narrowed eyes. “I took him to the station, I saw him onto the train, I didn’t wait around for it to leave. I’m sorry I didn’t drop him to the door of his mum’s house but I wasn’t to know he’d do something so stupid, I didn’t think I needed to go all the way up to Sheffield with him”

 

“I can’t believe you’re making fun of this. _Anything_ could have happened to him!” Scripps shouts.

 

The thought of being punched once again drifts through Dakin’s mind once again

 

“I’m not making fun of it, but realistically what should I have done?”

 

Scripps stands, grinding his palms against his eyes. “Look what was the last thing he said to you? Maybe there’s a clue there”

 

“Thank you for a nice time, I think. Something like that, nothing important”

 

“He didn’t mention, I don’t know, not wanting to leave or wishing he’d dropped in on somebody?”

 

“You mean you?”

 

“I mean did he give you any clue he didn’t intend to go straight home?”

 

“I don’t think so, I don’t remember. I’m not Miss Fucking Marple, I didn’t scrutinise every word he said”

 

“I don’t believe you. You’re so irresponsible. First, you drag him all the way across the country on a wild goose chase, then you don’t even look after him”

 

Hot rage simmers in Dakin’s gut. “No, I didn’t check his case for pills, I didn’t confiscate his shoelaces or hang a name tag round his neck like Paddington Bear. In fairness, you never even visited him!” He jabs an accusing finger at Scripps.

 

“Don’t. You. Dare. Blame this on me” Scripps hisses, dangerously quiet.

 

There’s a bang as the door flies into the wall, making them both jump, and three people stumble into the living room. Stu recognises two of them as the people Scripps shares the house with. They’re all evidently completely pissed.

 

“Sorry lads, are we interrupting?” asks one of them (his name’s Gary or Larry or something, Stu is sure – or possibly Nick, he never really cared enough to remember).

 

“It’s ok, I’m heading over to Dakin’s tonight” Scripps storms out and Dakin follows him with an apologetic smile.

 

A chorus of ‘ _ooooohs_ ’ and whistles follows them into the hall.

 

Ordinarily, Stu would play it up, relishing in his friend’s discomfort, but it barely registers other than as a delay they don’t need.

 

Scripps points a finger at him, his jaw tight. “Stay here, I’m getting dressed”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, the ex Grand Midland Hotel next to St Pancras was abandoned throughout the 80s and 90s. It's now called the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel and if you don't know it I urge you to check it out, it's the most beautiful example of Victorian Neo-Gothic Architecture porn you could ever imagine. 
> 
> I, like Posner, gawp up at it like someone trying to catch pigeon poo in my mouth whenever I walk past it. (Disclaimer: I have never tried to actually catch pigeon poo in my mouth, that would be gross)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is much panicking and some 80s style homophobia from a cameo character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, I'm still here and still posting, you didn't think I'd abandoned you, didja?
> 
> RL has been tough but is *Finally* starting to sort itself out, even so any and all love you wanna send my way will soothe my fragile ego ;)

 

 

By mutual agreement they head back to Tom’s flat. They need somewhere quiet and private to act as a base and whatever Scripps’ house share is, it isn’t either of those things.

 

“What does his mum say?” Scripps asks once they’re on the tube. It’s the first thing he’s said since they left the house, both of them preferring to stew in silent anger.

 

Dakin shrugs, some of his own anger dissipating now that Scripps is at least talking to him. “Just that he never arrived home”

 

“God, she must be worried sick”

 

“She thinks he’s still staying with me, I let her think it” Dakin explains, trying to reassure him.

 

Unfortunately, his words don’t have the calming effect that he’d expected. Instead, Scripps half jumps out of his seat with a yell.

 

“What?! When were you going to tell her? What was your plan? Hope she died of old age before she noticed? Or were you going to wait until she saw it on the bloody news?” He rants, his voice rising with every angry question.

 

The few other people in the carriage glance covertly at the commotion and then pointedly look away, staring out at the blackened windows as they listen in. Normally not one to shy away from the limelight, Dakin hates this sort of attention: the sort that implies he’s mad and possibly dangerous. Scripps would normally cringe away from upsetting people in any way, and never willingly draws unwanted attention. It isn’t a good sign.

 

“What? It’s not like I lied to her!” Stu hisses, trying to keep his voice down.

 

Still devoid of concern for their public dignity Scripps keeps yelling.

 

“You did lie!”

 

Dakin’s quiet protest of “but she’s really old” doesn’t cut it.

 

“You’re some piece of work, you know that?” Scripps scowls from the seat opposite, his voice at least back to indoor appropriate levels.

 

“Sorry” Dakin mutters, unable to remember the last time he felt so thoroughly abashed.

 

Scripps shakes his head and tuts as if to say that he’s disappointed but hardly surprised.

 

Dakin is so ashamed of himself he forgets that he’s angry and sits waiting for Scripps to break the silence and wondering what he could have done that would have made things turn out better.

 

“Have you called the police?” Scripps finally asks as the train approaches their stop.

 

Dakin wipes clammy hands on his jeans. “No, I came to get you as soon as I heard”

 

Scripps rolls his eyes.

 

“What? Would you rather I hadn’t?”

 

“We’ll go straight to the station”

 

“He’s a grown man, d’you really think it’s necessary?”

 

“Yes,” Scripps grinds out.

 

Dakin would point out that he highly doubts that someone lured Pos into the back of a van with a bag of pick ’n’ mix, but he doesn’t think it would go down well, so he clamps his mouth shut and joins everyone else in staring at his own reflection.

 

Scripps doesn’t speak to him again until they reach Tom’s neighbourhood. Instead, he sits with his hands clasped in his lap noticeably grinding his teeth. Dakin suspects he’s praying and wonders what God would make of an irate Scripps. He probably finds him as adorable as everybody else does.

 

Scripps marches him straight down to the station and, typically, the first thing they do is contact Mrs Posner.

 

Scripps’s _I told you so_ look doesn’t make Dakin feel any better about letting her find out that way.

 

The police are nice enough at first, although they make it clear that they share Dakin’s opinion that as a grown man, Posner isn’t that much of a police priority.

 

It’s only Scripps kicking up a very un-Scripps like fuss, adamant that David’s recent mental health troubles mean that him going missing for four days is a serious matter, that eventually persuades the desk sergeant to get someone out to talk to them both.

 

The young uniformed policeman who shows them into an office is clearly confused about why Scripps is there when David wasn’t even staying with him. He is dismissive towards Scripps at first, concentrating all of his attention and questions towards Dakin. It’s only when he asks if they can provide any information about why David might want to disappear that he’s forced to acknowledge Scripps' presence.

 

Stu shakes his head, frustrated. “He’s been low lately but he’s been loads worse in the past. There’s no reason is there, Scrippsy?”

 

Scripps flushes and looks at his shoes. “Except we weren’t speaking. I think that has something to do with it. We’ve never fallen out like this before” He says his voice cracking.

 

The officer glances between the pair of them a few times, his expression bewildered. Dakin can pinpoint from his expression the exact moment the penny drops and he realises just why Scripps is there and so deeply concerned, at which point he finds it difficult to hide his disgust towards them both – not (Dakin imagines) that he is trying to.

 

Dakin isn’t sure why he gets the same treatment doled out exactly, because it’s pretty clear the constable understands that it’s Scripps who is involved with Posner. Whether it’s because he’s tainted by association in the mind of this troglodyte, or whether he assumes Pos was staying with Stu as part of some longstanding threeway they have going he isn’t sure. So far as he’s aware he doesn’t off a general gay vibe – not being gay there’s no reason why he would.

 

He almost laughs aloud as he imagines what Tom would have to say about Thatcher’s knuckle-dragging homophobic police force.

 

The sun is up by the time they get out of the station and the dustmen are already rumbling down the street.

 

“Bell-end” Stu mutters, and stretches, feeling sweaty and crumpled as he blinks into the hazy morning sunshine.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Not you. I better be heading off to work soon” he grumbles.

 

“Sorry to inconvenience you after you literally lost one of your oldest friends like a piece of luggage while he’s at his most fragile” Scripps bites.

 

Annoyed and overtired, Stu frowns at him. “You just said you think he ran off because you weren’t speaking and yet it’s all my fault?”

 

“Dakin, I think it’s great that living with Tom gives you warm fuzzy feelings, everyone does, but you can’t use that as an excuse to treat Dave’s serious mental health problem as your new pet project”

 

“What the fuck are you on about? What has that got to do with –“

 

“You want to start nesting – go and get a fucking cat. David is not a pet”

 

“Hey,” Dakin snaps, trying not to let his embarrassment show on his face. “I was trying to sort out the mess you’ve managed to make of your relationship”

 

“No, you were entertaining yourself at the expense of both David’s wellbeing and my sanity”

 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I needed your permission to invite him. I forgot you own him now” He snaps, and storms off home to shower and change, leaving Scripps standing on the pavement. He half expects Scripps to follow him and is both relieved and deeply hurt when he doesn’t.

 

*****

 

Scripps trudges in exhausted and dejected after Dakin’s finished his supper. When he appears on the doorstep Stu buzzes him up without a second thought, already regretting their spat of the morning.

 

“You not going home?”

 

Scripps shakes his head.

 

“Not going home” he confirms sinking onto the sofa.

 

“Have a drink” Dakin pours himself a glass of wine

 

Scripps shakes his head. “I don’t want a drink”

 

“A whiskey will do you good”

 

“I don’t want it to do me good, I have to keep a clear head if I’m going to find David. Have the police rung?”

 

“No”

 

Apparently, Scripps skipped work to phone around and bang on doors. He’s found nothing, which explains his shitty mood.

 

From what Stu overhears, the police are less than encouraging on the phone.

 

Five minutes after hanging up Scripps is passed out on the couch. Dakin chucks a blanket on him and heads to bed.

 

He feels strung out, frayed and badly in need of hearing Tom’s voice.

 

After half an hour of staring at the ceiling, he gives up and tiptoes to the hall table and the phone.

 

The number for the hotel is stuck onto the phone with a bit of sellotape. The strip of paper is white and new next to its yellowed and dog eared counterparts bearing the numbers for Toms parents, sister, grandmother and office. There used to be one with Stu’s number on it too, before he moved in. He remembers the first time he encountered the system and the sense of exasperation at Tom not keeping an address book like a normal person warring with the warm bubbles of joy at seeing his own place on the phone: stuck next to the other important elements of Tom’s life.

 

Praying he’s awake, Dakin dials the number.

 

Tom sounds wrecked but Stu ploughs on, needing his reassurance.

 

“Oh, shitting baby Jesus” Tom sighs loudly down the phone. In his mind’s eye, Stu can see him rolling those enormous eyes.

 

“I did tell you not to meddle”

 

“You said I’d hurt his feelings, not that he’d go all Cathy Come Home!”

 

“No, I said someone would get hurt. I honestly don’t know how you got into Oxford, you never listen to me”

 

“I’m fucking clever, that’s how”

 

“Yeah. Except for when you’re fucking thick”

 

“What is this? National Pick on Stu Day?”

 

“Yes, actually. Funny how it coincides with Stuart’s annual festival of terrible ideas, huh?”

 

“Fuck you” Stu bites, bristling, although his heart isn’t in it.

 

“Have you called the police?”

 

In spite of the telling off, Stu is feeling sorry enough for himself that, instead of hanging up, he tells Tom all about the homophobic copper and the way Scripps has been out searching for Posner like he’s a lost tortoise.

 

Tom is gratifyingly sympathetic and his predictable worrying goes a long way towards bolstering Stuart’s usual levels of self-assurance. His concern acting as a balm for Stu’s bruised feelings. He is particularly fretful about the policeman and advises Stu not to give his own address, but to allow Mrs Posner to act as the sole point of contact. Stu doesn’t want to worry him any further by telling him he already has. From the way Tom is talking, he expects the low-level homophobe to be paying a visit any minute to kick his head in. It’s ridiculous and ordinarily would get on Stu’s tits, but right now it makes him feel important and safe and he’s had enough of feeling shit and off-kilter to last a lifetime after today.

 

The next day isn’t any better, their favourite policeman comes around in the evening to tell them that the police have put out a notice to the hospitals and liaised with other forces to do the same, and that, as David is an adult who left of his own free will, then that is all that they will be doing to help. He makes it plain that they are only doing that much because Pos attempted suicide in the past.

 

“He’s a grown up and it’s not like he doesn’t have his medication,” He says, as he picks up and inspects a framed photo of Tom and Stu on the shelf, mouth twisted in disgust.

 

“Yeah, well, thanks for dropping round” Stu gestures to the door while Scripps scowls with impotent rage from the settee.

 

“It’s an inconvenient time” He continues, replacing the photograph on its shelf and following Stu into the hall. “We’re very busy, your case has had to take a backseat. Luckily there’s not much point in rushing on this one.” He pauses at the door to say, loudly enough to reach through to the sitting room “Given his history, I doubt we’ll find him alive. These types are often troubled. Not that I have to tell you that” He adds, looking Dakin up and down with a sneer.

 

Stu smiles at him sweetly and shuts the door with a feeling of immense relief.

 

“Thundering cunt” He mutters to the wood.

 

In the sitting room, Scripps is purple with rage, already composing an angry letter to the police chief commissioner on the back of an envelope.

 

Stu pulls it out of his hands and chucks it in the bin.

 

“Dakin-“

 

“Seriously, mate, we’re lucky neither of us took a tumble down the stairs. I very much doubt that the man who hired him is going to be Mr Progressive.”

 

Scripps lets out a low growl.

 

“Easy now, Scrippsy, what would Jesus do?”

 

“Jesus is better than the rest of us. That’s the point.” He splutters

 

“Fine. Whatever, but we’ve got more important things to think about than that moron”

 

“He’s not dead, I know he’s not! I would feel it if he was”

 

“Of course he’s not,” Stu tells him, although personally, he isn’t so sure.

 

Scripps drops his head into his hands. Stu sits and watches him. _Recharging_ he labels it, and doesn’t dare say a word until Scripps is ready.

 

“If they aren’t going to help then we’ll have to find him ourselves. I’m not leaving it there” He finally decides, his voice filled with a new resolve and energy. “We’ll start now, we can work all night if we have to”

 

“Great” Stu mutters under his breath.

 

*****

 

Miles away, David Posner curls his thin form up on his uncomfortable bed and weeps.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to make the policeman have a typical 80s attitude to 'the gayness' and is in no way supposed to imply anything about the police. It's mostly inspired by what I've seen on Inspector Morse and Life on Mars XD


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Scripps is not having the best week and Dakin's a bit of a self centred douche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this might be a bit shit... I apologise in advance for any glaring errors, but I don't have a lot of time to myself at the moment and my laptop is on its last legs so it was a case of put it up now or wait god knows how long to get it perfect

 

 

“Ok, just think, just _bloody_ think” Scripps instructs, his voice tight, as he paces the five strides to the other side of Tom’s living room, and then back again.

 

Stu watches dispassionately from where he’s stretched out on the sofa - it isn’t that he doesn’t care, just that it’s gone midnight and after hours of it already he’s absolutely shattered.

 

Scripps, on the other hand, is showing no sign that the last few days of frantic worrying, searching and phoning around has made even the smallest dent in his energy levels.

 

“Look, I am fucking thinking, alright!” Stu lifts his hand from his eyes to shout at him.

 

“He isn’t here, he hasn’t shown up at yours and there’s no sign of him at home, he could be fucking anywhere from next door to the Outer Hebrides by now and short of discovering a tracking device you forgot you had fitted on him I don’t know what to do about it!”

 

Scripps pauses in his pacing, his breathing heavy, and gives Dakin the coldest stare he has ever received.

 

“Stop being facetious,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet “and come up with a sensible suggestion”

 

“Alright”

 

Wearily, Stu heaves himself upright and presses his hands to his temples for a few minutes. Other than realising that his hair probably looks like roadkill, he doesn’t come up with much.

 

“Well, he must be staying s _omewhere_. Friends, what about his friends?”

 

Scripps shakes his head. “I don’t know anybody who would agree to keep it from his mum when she thinks he’s missing.”

 

“Ok, you said he doesn’t have a lot of money, so we have to assume he’s staying with someone he knows, he won’t afford a hotel for long”

 

“Shit” Scripps’ pacing starts up again, faster this time. “He could be on the streets, or - God, what if he doesn’t plan on being there long, you know-“

 

“You said ‘think’, not panic. I can phone the mates of his who I know, what about people from uni? Anyone from school that you can think of who he hung round with before sixth form? I didn’t really know him back then”

 

“No good. I’ve tried everyone from uni and me and Adil were the only close friends he had at school in the lower years”

 

“Fine” Stu sighs, trying to ignore a twinge of guilt at being so mean to Pos throughout their school lives.

 

“Family. Any other family that maybe aren’t that close with his mum? Or even, fuck it, even if they are, he might just say he’s popped by for a visit or something, they might not know she thinks he’s done a runner”

 

Scripps sits down and steeples his fingers, thinking.

 

“Aunty Ruth is quite close to him, try her maybe”

 

Stu sinks back against his seat in relief. “OK, we’ll ring her in the morning”

 

“And if he’s not there? How can I tell her he’s missing?”

 

“Jesus Christ, don’t! Say _‘how are you, Aunty Ruth? I was wondering if you’d spoken to dear old Davey lately? I’ve lost his number’_ or something”

 

Scripps is still looking a bit peaky. “I don’t know her number”

 

“You can get it from his mum though - What? What’s the matter now?”

 

“I don’t think I can” Scripps gulps. “I think – I think you better do it, she knows he was staying with you”

 

“Why? She knows you’re a friend.”

 

“Yeah, but she might wonder – you know”

 

Stu almost laughs, only he hasn’t got the energy.

 

“For fuck's sake, I thought you wanted her to know anyway, that’s why the two of you haven’t spoken properly in weeks!”

 

The cold stare returns “Dakin, I think the events of the past few days have proved conclusively that pushing him is not in anyone’s best interests”

 

Stu shakes his head in defeat. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow if I can go to bed now”

 

He can tell Scripps isn’t happy with this plan but before he can open his mouth to argue, Stu hurries into the bedroom, pulls a blanket from the wardrobe and snatches Tom’s pillow off the bed. After a second’s hesitation, he swaps it for his own and returns to the living room to throw them both at Scripps.

 

He drifts off to sleep to the sound of Scripps pacing.

*****

 

Mrs Posner has quite a lot to say to Stu, as it turns out.

 

She keeps him on the phone for ages. First, ranting at him for not telling her sooner about ‘dear Davey’, and then extracting lengthy apologies and interrogating him for a detailed account of everything he and Scripps have done to find her son so far. The entire process is then repeated again and again.

 

He eventually finds out she hasn’t told any relatives what happened because she doesn’t want to worry them and happily hands over the numbers of a dozen aunts once Stu has promised, faithfully that he won't let on why he’s calling them.

 

Afterwards, she apparently moves on to looking on him as a sort of counsellor, because she keeps him on the phone for another forty minutes telling him all about how hard things have been for both her and David since her husband passed on – he assumes he's forgiven for allowing his own guilt to prevent him from telling her about Davey legging it at the station, although she doesn't say so in as many words. The whole conversation is emotionally draining and when he eventually hands Aunty Ruth’s number to Scripps he feels like he’s fought a dragon for it.

 

“ _‘Back from the jaws of death, back from the mouth of hell’_ ” he mutters under his breath, leaving Scripps to make his calls to all the Posner clan.

 

*****

 

Auntie Ruth hasn’t spoken to David in months and, from what Stu overhears of the conversation, she becomes increasingly concerned that Scripps is stalking her nephew. No one else in the family has heard from him either. Scripps doesn’t get over the disappointment for the rest of the evening.

 

“You can’t expect to get lucky that easily” Stu tries, warily, when he can no longer stand the silence.

 

“It’s not a game, Dakin”

 

Tired of taking the blame for everything, he shoots a glare at Scripps. “I’m not exactly having fun”

 

“Poor you” Scripps replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Sensing a row brewing, Stu mimes zipping his mouth shut.

 

“Why wouldn’t he just go home?” Scripps groans.

 

“Beats me” Stu shrugs bitterly “but – look don’t bite my head off here - I have faith that he can keep himself alive for a week without either of us. It’s not as if someone forced him to leave. I don’t think you should assume the worst just cos we're not with him”

 

Hands to his temples, Scripps shakes his head. “you don’t get it, Dakin”

 

“Probably not” he concedes.

 

Scripps starts to say something and then stops. This happens a few more times and Stu busies himself with a magazine, not prepared to wait forever.

 

An interview with Morrissey catches his eye and he loses himself in savage glee for a few minutes. Scoffing disdainfully at how much of a twat the man comes across is enough to make him almost forget about how much Scripps is getting on his tits for a moment.

 

“I want him back” Scripps croaks, sounding …well, _ashamed_ , Stu would call it, though why he should feel that way Dakin has no idea; that overblown sense of responsibility rearing its head again, no doubt.

 

“ - not just the David who was here with you.” Scripps continues quietly. “The real one, the one I fell in love with, my old friend” he keeps his gaze fixed determinedly on the overhead light.

 

Stu puts down his magazine, it’s only polite.

 

“Is that why you wouldn’t see him?”

 

Scripps sniffs. “I miss him so much, and it’s my fault.”

 

“Well, you could have made more of an effort but I doubt that’s enough to tip him over the edge”

 

Scripps drops his forehead onto his hand. Stu is happy to ignore him again until another sniff attracts his attention.

 

Scripps' hands block his eyes from Dakin’s view but it isn’t enough to hide that he is crying softly to himself. Big tears drip off the end of his nose and splash onto his lap.

 

Stu has never seen Scripps cry before, not even when they were thirteen and Scripps dislocated his shoulder on the rugby pitch and he threw up from the pain.

 

He hasn’t the first clue what to do.

 

He’s never been any good with tears. He never cries himself, not since his granddad died, but that was different, and anyway it was ages ago.

 

He’s seen his mum cry in the past, of course, but mums are supposed to be emotional, and she always used to pretend she wasn’t doing it and he would pretend he didn’t notice and it worked well for them both. Girls too – he’s made quite a few of them cry in his time – girl _friends_ he ought to say - but that had always been during a row or a break-up and he had been angry those times and so, more often than not, he convinced himself that they were being stupid, or putting it on for sympathy so ignored them out of spite. He’s even seen Tom cry, once or twice, but Tom is just that sort of bloke and it’s a bit funny really, now the awkwardness has all melted away between them; actually, those tears he’s alright at dealing with, largely because Tom cheers up quick enough with a hug, and also because Tom finds it embarrassing and chokes them up quickly without any effort needed from Stu. Scripps though, Scripps is a different kettle of fish completely.

 

Scripps crying is unnatural.

 

What’s worse is he doesn’t cry in an embarrassed sort of way like Tom does: wiping the tears away as fast as they come, nor does he try to stem the tide once it’s started. He sits and he sobs, loudly and wetly. It sounds like his heart is breaking.

 

Unsure of what to do, Stu creeps closer and claps a hand on his shoulder. He leaves it there too long for the gesture to feel natural and eventually, the sobs quieten leaving Scripps red-faced and wet-cheeked yet still unashamed.

 

“It’ll look better in the morning” Stu mumbles

 

Scripps nods and sniffs and it’s wet and gurgling and gross.

 

“Do you have a tissue?” He croaks.

 

Dakin finds him a sheet of kitchen roll and retreats as fast as possible on the premise of giving his friend some privacy, but really because he can’t bear it. He feels guilty for being such a shit, but it’s not enough to make him return to Scripps’ side.

 

*****

 

The first few days after learning Posner was missing Scripps took time off work to spend time hunting for him. His days were spent badgering the police stations, hospitals, homeless shelters, hostels in the area as well as members of the public both around the train station and the flat, armed with an old photo of David. Nobody he has spoken to remembers seeing the slight young man with mousy hair, although several people were very kind and took a number, promising to keep an eye out and call if they see him. It takes a serious toll on his mood and after nearly a week without success, Scripps decides his time would be better spent back at the newspaper office.

 

Posner’s picture appears in the paper and on the local news, posters materialise around the neighbourhood, bearing a blown up and blurred version of the old photo, and Scripps gets thinner and the circles under his eyes darken.

 

He doesn’t speak to Dakin much despite spending most nights on the sofa, except about their campaign to find Posner, and with every day that Posner remains undetected, his mood grows more brittle and resentful towards Dakin.

 

Stu ought to be pleased that his friend’s crippling self-blame has at least turned itself outwards but he can't find it in him to be selfless, and Stu is ashamed to think that he cares more about his and Scripps’ friendship going back to the way it was than he does about finding Pos. But then, as the two things likely go together, it’s something of a moot point. It still nags his conscience.

 

 

*****

 

Scripps’ adverts aren’t a total bust. They get reports of Posner being spotted in Manchester, London, Reading, Bristol, Newcastle and Belfast but it’s never him, and after a week of having his brittle hopes smashed, Scripps gives up answering them. He returns to his own home as well as to work, and Stu feels the emptiness in the flat like it’s inside himself.

 

When Tom calls up, worried about him, Stu feels so guilty it’s barely any improvement on the loneliness. Tom presumes he’s worried sick about David, which only makes things worse. In spite of everything, a part of Stu doesn’t like to look for him when Posner so obviously wants to be lost – it feels like a betrayal. It’s himself he truly feels sorry for; he didn’t ask to lose Scripps’ friendship and doesn’t know how to get along without it. It’s been him and Scripps for as long as he cares to remember.

 

“Do you want me to come home for the weekend?” Tom offers. “We have four days off filming because of the rain – I’m surprised the Jacobite rebellion didn’t head straight back to home to Italy as soon as they realised the rain comes in sideways”

 

“You putting that in the programme?”

 

“I might just wear flippers. Seriously though, if you want me to pop home I can. It’s a bit shit up here, honestly. Not much to do except get pissed when we’re not working. The girls took me out last Friday and I’m still not over it”

 

‘ _The Girls’_ sounds so ridiculous but it’s accurate because, of course, Tom’s workmates are all girls; they practically flock to him and he has his own gang of lesbians back at Broadcasting House. It’s a skill teenage-Stu would have killed for.

 

He wants to say ‘fuck yes, come home’ but it sticks in his throat. Rather than risk sounding weak and needy he says: “Nah, you’re fine. You’d scarcely get here before you needed to go back up”

 

“If you’re sure. You’re definitely alright?”

 

“Yeah” He lies.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dakin gets a shock

 

 

It takes Dakin completely by surprise when he arrives home four weeks after dropping him at the station to find Posner sitting on the doorstep waiting for him.

 

He stops, keys in hand, wondering if he’s having hallucinations. It’d be just his luck.

 

“Hello” He tries

 

Pos jumps.

 

“Your neighbour let me in the building’ he shrugs, recovering himself.

 

As he draws nearer, Stu notices just how shit Pos looks, his hair is cut short under a grey hood and there are bags under his eyes.

 

Without another word, Stu sinks down to sit on the mat beside him, half terrified Posner will bolt again if he spooks him.

 

It’s Pos who starts the conversation, which is embarrassing, given their circumstances.

 

“How have you been?”

 

“Oh, you know,” Stu shrugs, annoyed at this casual act; like they haven’t just spent weeks combing the bloody country for him. “Everyone thinks I lost you, Scripps is pissed off with me, Tom’s pissed off with me”

 

“I’m pissed off with you too, just so you know”

 

Stu narrows his eyes accusingly

 

“I don’t know why”

 

“Because you went running to Scrippsy and made everything worse”

 

“How can it be worse?”

 

“It’s all over”

 

“What is?” Stuart turns his head sharply, alarmed.

 

“Me and Don. Finished”

 

Relief rushing over him, Stu huffs an incredulous laugh. “You’re letting your imagination play tricks on you again”

 

“I’m not”

 

Horrified, he watches a tear roll down Posner’s cheek. “He called just before I left. We’re taking a break”

 

“What do you mean?” He scoffs

 

“He said he thinks he’s been putting too much pressure on me. Well, actually he said he thinks _this_ is: our relationship. He said it’s asking too much of both of us right now, so we’re having _‘a break’_. It’s a very kind way of saying he’s had enough of me”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true – no really, when have you ever known me to be nice for the sake of it?”

 

Posner gives a weak smile and Stu almost laughs with relief.

 

“You ran away because of Scripps then? Luckily you couldn’t pick an easier bloke to make things right with. Uncle Stu’ll sort it all out for you, you’ll see.”

 

“It’s not just that, it’s everything. My whole life. Nothing’s going right.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like everything.”

 

“I’m sure we can sort it” He tries, gently.

 

“That’s the trouble with you, you always want to _sort_ everything. You don’t control the world, Dakin. You can’t _sort_ this.” Posner explodes, suddenly angry – it’s not very effective in Stu’s opinion: he’s too cute and harmless. It’s like having a puppy shouting at you.

 

Stu decides to continue on his moral high road and keep his voice low and reassuring.

 

“Well, tell me and let me be the judge?”

 

Posner sighs angrily “Why can’t you just listen for a change without having to stick your oar in?”

 

“I am listening”

 

“Fine” He stops for a long moment to gather his thoughts. “I can’t –“

 

 _“can’t what?”_ Stu nearly asks “ _can’t finish a sentence?”_ He keeps quiet by supreme effort, biting his lip to stop himself.

 

Beside him, Posner’s leg joggles up and down erratically, it’s annoying as hell.

 

“at home, my mum –“ He starts, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling “every second she’s leaning on me for support after my dad and I can’t - ” He swallows, his voice thick. “I hate my job, I’ve got this new supervisor who’s awful – I think she’s got it in for me. Everything’s shit! That’s what I had to get away from home and she’s made it shit and after clinging in there all that time I’ve definitely lost it now.”

 

“So what? Why do you care? It’s a chance to do something else. Move down here if you want – or don’t, try something new- you were on about teaching”

 

Posner nods, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I never spoke to Tom about it”

 

“I know”

 

“I will talk to him about it, really”

 

“Good” Stu smiles, pleased with himself. “Come in and have a cuppa?”

 

Feeling like he’s trapping a wild animal, he holds his breath until Posner is safely inside the front door, and tries to keep his movements calm so as not to alarm him.

 

“Can I have one of those?” Posner pipes up, watching as Stu fishes a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.

 

“You don’t smoke” Stu dismisses him, lighting up.

 

“I’m not a kid!” he snaps, looking exactly that with his too big clothes and tear-stained cheeks.

 

Dakin shrugs and hands him one

 

He knows full well Scripps has strong views on smoking and assumes it’s a small act of rebellion – he can’t decide whether it’s a promising sign or not.

 

“What would Scripps say?” He asks as Pos inexpertly lights up

 

“I told you that’s over. Besides he doesn’t own me” Pos glowers before he breaks into a nasty coughing fit.

 

Either he’s picked something up in whatever Victorian style hellhole he’s been sheltering in, or else it’s his asthma protesting.

 

Stu retreats to the far end of the tiny sitting room-cum-kitchen, so as not to crowd him.

 

“Where have you been staying? I thought you didn’t have any money.”

 

“Not much. I was at this shitty B&B in Birmingham. There was a prozzie working upstairs, she tried to get me in a few times, even offered me a special rate which was… flattering. I didn’t by the way.” He adds with a raised eyebrow

 

“What? I didn’t ask!”

 

“You did with your face”

 

“Why Birmingham?”

 

Pos shrugs. “It’s on the way, it’s a big city, nobody knows me there. It just seemed perfect. I didn’t plan it - when the train was delayed at New Street I just made up my mind and got off. I needed to think”

 

“About Scripps?”

 

“About everything. Scripps included”

 

“Going to tell me what happened?”

 

Pos takes another drag on his neglected cigarette and stifles another cough. Stu decides not to say anything.

 

“That’s it really”

 

“Really? Scripps phones up to say ‘lets take a beak’ and you run away for a month? You let all of us think God knows what had happened to you for that?”

 

Posner shrugs again. Stu wonders how he hasn’t got repetitive strain injury by now from all the bloody shrugging.

 

“I thought about – you know… ending it all. I thought up how would be best to do it. The pills didn’t work last time and when I woke up it was so painful. In the end, I just wasn’t brave enough” He sniffles. “Just like Laura”

 

“Who?” Stu frowns

 

“Brief Encounter. It’s our favourite. Don’s and mine” Another tear makes it’s way down the well-worn path from one of Pos’ puffy eyes to his chin.

 

Belatedly, Stu fishes around for a box of tissues.

 

“That’s not bravery Pos, that’s giving in. You’re tougher than that, I know.”

 

Pos wipes his eyes “Thanks, Dakin” He mumbles, unconvinced.

 

“No, honestly.” Stu tries gnaws his lip, searching his brain for the right words to tell Posner what he’s always really thought about him deep down. “Back at school, you think you were the only gay kid? You were the only one with the balls to say ‘fuck em all, this me’”

 

“I am what I am?” Pos says, wryly, blowing his snotty nose.

 

“Exactly”

 

“I mean, I know back then I was a bit – well “

 

“A prick?”

 

“I was going to say insensitive.” Stu frowns, placing the waste paper bin at his feet.

 

“That too”

 

“But don’t think I don’t know there were some nasty boys back in the lower years, bigger than you all of them, and you held your head up every day and didn’t let them beat you down. That’s real balls, Pos. I wouldn’t have managed it”

 

“I couldn’t just give in to them”

 

“Exactly. That’s real bravery, Pos. So I know you’re not a coward”

 

“When did you get so thoughtful all of a sudden?”

 

“Living with a skinny, speccy, nerdy gayboy has taught me a few things”

“Like sensitivity, I see”

 

“Precisely” Stu grins “I was going to get you a cuppa”

 

“Milk and two sugars please”

*****

 

 

They chat while Posner drinks disgusting weak tea and Stu works up the courage to rock the boat a little, finally seizing his chance when Posner rather sheepishly asks him how he’s been while Pos has been living it up in his Brummie dosshouse.

 

“Scripps isn’t speaking to me really, which is … shit, but I suppose I deserve it. Tom thinks I do.

 

“Speaking of Scripps, you know I’m going to have to call him? He’s been going frantic – still is frantic”

 

Pos nods, looking down at his shoes rather than at Dakin.

 

Keeping one eye on him all the time, Stu makes his way to the phone. It’s engaged, which is bloody typical.

 

An almighty sigh of relief from Pos greets this news, which is far from promising, but at least he perks up a bit and stops chewing on his fingernail – a habit that’s carried him through the last ten minutes and has Stu clenching his hands to stop himself from reaching out and smacking it away from his mouth, grandmother-style.

 

“What’s got you being so weird with Tom?” He asks, suddenly chatty again as Stu takes a seat opposite him.

 

“What do you mean weird?”

 

“You know what I mean”

 

Stu is caught somewhat off guard by the question, but as Posner points out, they’ve been dissecting his private life for most of the evening, and as Stuart seems to consider it his God-given right to nose about in his private affairs, it’s only fair he should reciprocate occasionally.

 

“I don’t know, I always thought I’d be free and single mostly – I mean, I thought I’d settle down eventually, I never want to be one of those sad old blokes pretending they’re still twenty-two by the time they hit fifty, but I wanted to play the field a bit.”

 

“If you haven’t played the field then I don’t know who has”

 

“You know what I mean! I always imagined myself with a string of unbelievably hot and rich casual girlfriends, the odd boyfriend on the sly perhaps – but in my head, they were more James Bond than … whatever Tom is”

 

“Ex supply teacher”

 

“Yeah”

 

“He dresses like my dad” Pos nods.

 

“Your dad’s dead”

 

“Thanks for the reminder, you’re a real mate”

 

“Sorry, I didn’t think!”

 

“So what’s new?”

 

“You sound just like him”

 

“He’s good for you, you know. Someone has to keep you in line.”

 

“I know. It’s not him it’s just… here I am settling down at twenty-three, started dating at uni just like everybody else, it’s all so boring and predictable and **_cliché_** ” Dakin sounds dejected.

 

“Cheer up, it’s not exactly like everybody else – he was your teacher after all. That’s pretty shocking”

 

“I suppose there’s that” he smiles

 

“And nobody expected you to end up with a man. And you like him”

 

“Yeah” He sits up straighter, shaking off his funk. “Ready to try Scripps again?”

 

Pos takes a deep breath and nods.

 

It’s still engaged.

 

“He’s probably on the phone to the police again”

 

“Shit” Pos pales

 

“I’d say they’re sick of him” Stu tries to lighten the mood but Posner isn’t seeing the funny side. “He’s been really worried”

 

“You can go and tell him if you want”

 

“You don’t want to come with me?”

 

Pos shakes his head, his eyes gleaming brightly with fresh tears.

 

“I promise not to do anything. You can lock me in if you want”

 

Guiltily, Stu considers it; only the thought of what would happen if the building caught fire quickly makes him decide against the idea. Besides, Pos came back of his own free will so it seems unlikely that he’ll bolt again.

 

Just to be on the safe side though, he empties the bathroom cabinet of medicines and razor blades and locks them in the mailbox downstairs.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the very kind comments I've had on this, they really do make my week when I get them. For various reasons I have patchy access to the internet and my laptop currently but I'll try and get the next part up asap. You're all GAW-jus Xx


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